Dragon's Blood
by lovelylunatic1991
Summary: 'Anger started to suddenly bloom inside of him like a malevolent weed, and he was about to push the bundle of heartache back into the girl's arms when Daenerys smiled at him, her eyes lighting up and dimples forming in her cheeks, pudgy fingers raised towards him expectantly.' A story of dragon orphans..What was, what could have been, and what would never be. (Rated M for a reason)
1. Dragon Orphans

Viserys stared at the bundle in the girl's arms before directing his gaze to Ser Willem. The older man's clear blue eyes were smiling, so he smiled back, unsure of what to do.

"Would you like to hold her, my prince?" questioned the man.

Viserys hesitated for only a moment before he nodded, coming closer to the Bravosi chambermaid and peering down in between soft, white swaddling clothes to find a sleeping baby, a living porcelain doll.

"Daenerys," he said softly, trying her name out on his tongue, and suddenly she was in his arms. He had never held her before, had never dared to, really, and she was nearly seven months now. He lied to himself that it was because he was angry at her for causing their mother's death, but in truth, Viserys was afraid.

When his mother had died, a part inside of him had broken apart, his heart finally shattering completely after losing the last person he had loved. His brother, his father, then his mother; all gone. And then there was Daenerys.

He had avoided looking at her during the long sea voyage with Ser Darry, instead leaving her to her milk maid and falling deep into his thoughts. They were dark thoughts for a nine year old to have, thoughts of revenge, fire and blood, thoughts of destruction. Viserys liked to fancy himself a true dragon like his brother Rhaegar; he felt the fire burning inside his veins, warning him of a dangerous destiny, but one which he would surely have to follow someday in order to restore his rights to the Iron Throne.

The truth was that Viserys was dreadfully afraid of failing. He was afraid of losing someone he loved all over again, so a part of him pushed him away from Daenerys, away from her greedy, chubby fingers and plump, rosy cheeks. But now he had given in, and there would be no hope of ever turning back.

The moment he looked into his baby sister's eyes, Viserys knew he had found a new reason to live, a new reason to believe in a future where he would be king of Westeros, as was his right. Her eyes were slightly darker than his, a warm violet in color. Despite the Targaryen features his entire family shared, Viserys didn't think she looked anything like him, but rather, he was reminded of Rhaegar every time he chanced a gaze on her. She reminded him of his mother, as well.

Anger started to suddenly bloom inside of him like a malevolent weed, and he was about to push the bundle of heartache back into the girl's arms when Daenerys smiled up at him, her eyes lighting up and dimples forming in her cheeks, pudgy fingers raised towards him expectantly. Stunned and slightly awed, he chanced a look up at Ser Darry, but the man only offered an encouraging smile, wrinkles forming at the corners of his soft eyes.

"She likes you, your grace" commented their protector in an amused, fatherly tone. "She won't break, you know." Viserys blinked, realizing he had been standing very stiffly, angling her body away from his so that she was barely touching him. But he relaxed his muscles now, pulling her closely so that his chin rested on top of her head, one of her tiny hands finding his own and grasping a finger tightly. He rubbed his chin against the top of her head and then lowered his head to kiss her. When his lips pressed against the smooth, warm skin of her cheek, Viserys felt goose bumps erupting all over his body, the emotion of the moment pressing in on him from all sides until he was left without a choice; give in now, or stay away forever.

Viserys gave in to the baby bundled in his arms, opening his heart to her and feeling the love and joy emanate off of her body, pressing her to him and holding her as close as he dared to without hurting her. It was for this small, wondrous creature that he had to win back his crown, not just for himself. He had been cheated out of a crown, yes, but so had she he now realized. They had both been cheated out of a different life, a better life, a life where they wouldn't have to fight for what was rightfully theirs.

Her tiny hand came up to rest against his face, and then she grabbed hold of a lock of his hair, pulling slightly and squealing in delight, her cheeks flushing brightly. The nine year old boy chuckled, allowing her this small amount of fun; deep down inside the young prince was grateful she had taken to him so quickly after never spending time with him since her birth.


	2. Lilac

If someone had asked Viserys what happiness meant to him, he would have immediately thought of his sister. She was everything that wasn't wrong with the world, its antithesis, and in moments like these, he was glad she was as young as she was.

"Why did the man have to die?" she asked him, her voice soft. Or perhaps not young enough, his mind countered crossly.

"Because he was a bad man, Dany," he said to the five year old who was testing his patience. "He tried attacking a Lord, and such a thing is punishable by imprisonment or death."

They could still see the guards carrying the body away, his sickly thin arms flailing at his sides lifelessly. Viserys clenched his jaw, remembering how thin and frail his father had seemed the last time he had seen him at the age of eight.

"What's imprisomint?"

"It's _imprisonment_, and it means being put in jail. It's where all the bad people go to rot away so the good ones can live peacefully and out of harm's way…"

"What if the lord attacked the man first?" she asked, interrupting him. "Would the man be allowed to punish _him_?"

Her questions were irritating him as of late, and Viserys found himself answering her in clipped tones now. "No, he wouldn't be allowed to raise his hand to a lord, he's _beneath_ him. Honestly don't you know anything, you stupid girl?"

His eyes found hers and he felt the red hot anger die out of him as swiftly as it had come. She was gazing up at him in shock and confusion. Viserys immediately regretted lashing out at her, his face softening as his hand caressed the top of her head. "I'm sorry," he said, trying to soften his voice. "Let's get going before we worry Ser Darry." He paused, his gaze going to the deep blues and greens of the water in the distance. "If we start back now, we can stop at the docks and look at the ships. I know how you like to see the ships, Dany."

"Yes, let's," she agreed happily, and he knew that he was forgiven. She put her small hand in his larger one as he led the way to the docks, his mind elsewhere.

Viserys contemplated their situation while Dany leaned against the wooden railing on her tippy toes, trying to see the fishermen in their small boats, the larger ships of lordlings and foreign royalty, and the vast, monstrous trading galleys that sailed into the port of Bravos from all parts of the world, including their home in Westeros.

Ser Willem Darry was growing old and weak; he was a good man and a loyal one, but Viserys was starting to fear for their future beside him. He had heard the servants whispering about his lord's failing health and more recently, bothersome rumors regarding the ownership of the house once the man passed away had reached his ears. Of the latter, he didn't even know what to believe, or if he should say anything about it to Ser Darry. Dark thoughts plagued him day in and day out, and Viserys was trying to come up with a solution on what to do, how to get gold, how to _survive_, when he felt a small tug on his shirt.

He looked down and knew without asking that she wanted a better view, so he bent down and scooped her up into his arms, resting her against his hip. He wondered, for a split, heartbreaking moment, how proud his mother would be to see him now, caring for his sister and being the dutiful older brother. But then resentment filled him, and a darker part of him noted that the warm body in his arms was the one responsible for taking his mother away from him in the first place. One thin arm wound around his neck, while the other pointed excitedly towards one of the larger ships.

"Look, look, Viserys, a dragon!" For a short moment his dreams broke free from mere fantasy and were suddenly a reality. But then he saw which ship she had been pointing at, and a sullen sigh escaped his lips.

"It's not a real dragon, Dany," he said. "It's a seadragon."

There on the high mast of the ship, stark green against the white of a banner, was the design of a water dragon. The difference between this dragon and the dragons Viserys longed for was a lack of wings and a longer tail. The wings were replaced by three pairs of blackish green fins, each one smaller than the last, traveling down the snakelike body. It also resembled a snake more than a dragon, and Viserys found himself resenting the image more and more the longer he stared at it.

"Do they breathe fire, too?"

Viserys put her down on her feet, resting a hand on her shoulder as he shook his head. "No, Dany, that dragon is not like the dragons from my stories."

"But your dragons breathe fire, don't they?" she asked, and he wordlessly held out his hand, impatient now to get away from the docks, the smelly fishermen and the horrible green dragon which would surely haunt his dreams now.

"Yes," he granted her when she slipped her hand in his and allowed herself to be guided away from the docks. "They breathe fire, but they are long gone now. No one has seen a living dragon in a very long time, since before we were even born."

Daenerys seemed to have given up for a while, and they walked along in silence, the heat of the Bravosi evening pressing down on them as the sky melted away into shades of red and purple.

"But if you had a dragon, would you let me ride it?" Her question stunned him; it seemed so childish, so simple, and yet it left him conflicted and slightly disturbed with himself for taking it out of context for a short moment. She was still a small child, he reminded himself, a little girl. She couldn't possibly understand what she was implying with that, she couldn't possibly know that the first girl he had laid with four months prior had tried enticing him by asking if she could 'ride his dragon'.

"Of course, Dany, I would let you ride any dragon of your choosing," he said, a smile slowly forming on his face as he led her through a maze of shops, taverns, stores and brothels.

"I want a green one," she said instantly, and he chanced a quick look at her. "Or maybe a black one..." She seemed to be very indecisive as of late. "Or a red one. Or a blue one!"

"Or any color," he laughed.

"Or maybe one with silver and gold scales—with purple eyes!"

He stopped then and stared down at her, and it was as if he were seeing her for the first time. Her small face stared at him with an openness and innocence he suddenly wanted to beat out of her, just to make sure she would never trust anyone other than him. It was dangerous to trust other people, Viserys knew, and he had to properly teach her how to survive if they were going to live long enough to take back the Seven Kingdoms.

"Now why would you want that, Dany?"

"So that every time I look at him I can think of you," she said happily.

"Well I don't really know if such dragons exist. I've never heard of a dragon with purple eyes." He sighed, tugging her along once again as he started walking. "And besides," his voice was deeper now, gruffer, closer to a man's voice than a boy's, "my eyes aren't even _purple_."

"I know," she said, and now her voice sounded lower, smaller somehow. "They're the color of the lilac flowers Ser Willem got me for my name day last year."


	3. Death Waits for No Man

"A week, a month, maybe less. I can't say for sure." The dark, stout, curly-haired woman put her hand on Viserys' shoulder, squeezing it with more strength than he would have thought her capable of. "I'm so sorry, m'boy. He's had his days and nights, his women and fights; it's time for him to go, and just so. The god of death waits for no man."

Viserys clenched his jaw, anger slowly rising inside of him like a rotten plague, making him think less clearly than before. He wanted to maim, rip and tear out every living, beating heart around him in that moment, starting with hers. "I'm not a boy," he said quietly, his voice dangerously close to a shake. "I'm a _prince_."

"Aye, every child is a prince in his father's eyes, boy." He didn't feel it was necessary to correct her again, or tell her the man wasn't his real father, for even if he did, what good would that do him? He was now stuck in a house that smelled like sweet flowers and death, his sister crying silently in the other room, while the man whom they owed their very lives to lay half-blind and dying in his bed. He felt completely powerless; it was his mother dying all over again and him not being able to do a damn thing, just stand there and watch, wait, feel, and die a little more inside. What would they do? How would they find—no, how would _he _find money to support them; to clothe, feed and educate the both of them?

"I need to speak with my sister now," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose in between two fingers, and not feeling like a boy his age should feel at all. "I trust you can find your way out."

Viserys put the small cloth pouch filled with coins into the woman's hand and she nodded, giving him one last look of sorrow mixed with pity before turning around and leaving him standing there. He certainly didn't need her pity, or anyone's pity for that matter. Viserys was a prince, and he would one day be king. If only he had the wealth he should have for a boy—no, a man of his status—then he could truly take care of himself and Daenerys as well as assure their safety until he was old enough to take back the Seven Kingdoms.

When he stepped into her room he couldn't find her anywhere; the small amount of panic blooming in his chest erupted and he pulled open the doors of her armoire noisily, scrambled to look under her bed, and behind it, and minutes later let out a loud, feral growl of anger when she was nowhere to be found.

"Dany, where are you?," he shouted, knowing it would carry through the house. "Daenerys!"

Just when he was beginning to get so mad he thought he might actually give her a beating when he found her, he felt a small tug on his shirt, and knew she had found him instead.

Viserys looked at her red, puffy eyes and immediately the anger melted away from him, leaving only pain and powerlessness in its wake, which somehow was worse. He got down on his knees so he would be closer to her level and she fell into his arms, silent sobs wracking her whole body.

"Hush now," he said as softly as he could manage, stroking her long silvery gold tresses. "It's done now. Sssshh, crying and getting your face ugly and red won't help a thing, my darling Dany."

She hiccupped then, startling herself and him, and then smiled at him tentatively. "So is he alright? Will Ser Willem be good then? He'll get better, right?"

The innocence in her voice was what set him off, and in the blink of an eye, he was standing up on two feet while she remained down on the floor, staring up at him with wide, violet eyes, her eyelashes wet and impossibly long against the porcelain of her cheeks.

"You don't get it, he's gone, he's dying you stupid, _stupid _girl," he snarled, "and we have _no one_ to get help from, no money to buy food, _no one_ to help us." She looked very frightened then, as if he had told her she was a pig lined up for slaughter.

"What will we do?" the six year old sobbed suddenly, wailing loudly and reminding him of her earlier toddler days. "We—"

"I'm not going to sit here and pretend to have an actual conversation with you about this, Daenerys." She cringed; he only used her full name when she was misbehaving, or worse, when she had disappointed him horribly. "What I say goes; I'm the older one and the heir to the throne. I wouldn't worry too much about room and board; I'm sure none of the wealthy or noble families in Bravos want the future Targaryen King as their enemy."

It was easier said than done, gaining loyalty or help from wealthy, noble houses, as Viserys would soon find out. He first tried all the grandest, wealthiest families on the island, disregarding their noble blood or lack thereof, instead promising to raise them to Lords of Westeros and grant them lands, titles and wealth in repayment when he had his crown. The Abner family wined and dined with him and his sister, admiring their strange eyes and hair, and the father even tried to go as far as proposing a marriage between Viserys and his daughter, a slight, plain girl of twelve. He promised that other families would support his cause as well, if only he showed them that he was true to his word. One way of showing that, the man revealed, was by marrying himself and his sister into such families.

Viserys wouldn't hear of it. His sister was to be _his_ queen, his wife, and she would birth _him_ beautiful children with indigo eyes and tresses of silver gold. He wouldn't give her away for anything, especially not at such a young age, regardless of the Dorser's family's promise to wait until she was of age to wed and bed in order to take their son as husband. The boy in question was younger than Daenerys, a boy of four, and Viserys grit his teeth together at the thought of someone else being her favorite person in the whole wide world, the man she depended on for her protection and her survival. That man was him and would always be him, and the prince could not be swayed to change his mind.

Another more obscure family who claimed to be of ancient Ghiscari descent offered to keep him and his sister as wards for a whole three years. Their prices were a bit too grotesque for Viserys' tastes, and he didn't fancy the thought of his sister having her maidenhead taken from her at such a frail age, or the thought of himself having to pleasure the men or women of the family upon command. The next family valued his reputation more than his dwindling gold, and when he thought he was finally among future friends, the younger brother of Lord Tellys decided to ruin it all by continuously staring at his sister for inappropriately long amounts of time. He was only nine years old, younger than Viserys, and a child in truth, but Viserys didn't need more worries on his mind in the near future. Keeping the boy apart from his sister in a few years time might prove to be a nuisance, and in a worst scenario, could weaken his political ties with that family should he be forced to take disciplinary actions against the child.

Three weeks had passed since the curly haired woman had come to the house with the red door, and Viserys had made next to no progress in finding himself and Dany a stable and safe home.

The night that Ser Willem Darry finally went to sleep and stopped breathing an hour later, Viserys came into his sister's room quietly, not wanting to disturb her but not being able to stay away. The only thing that could lighten his sour mood were her smiling face and tender hugs.

"He's dead isn't he," she whispered when he slipped into her bed behind her, wrapping his arm around her tiny body and holding her close. Her voice sounded far more broken than he had ever heard it, and he knew that she had been crying for hours from the way it cracked with every syllable.

"Yes, Dany," he said softly, smoothing back her hair. "But I'm here, and I'll always be here, right here with you. Nothing can ever take me away from you Dany."

The child sniffed loudly and sat up on her elbow, turning around to face him; her arms pressing into his chest, her face covered in so many tears he could almost taste the saltiness of them when he breathed.

"You promise?"

"Yes, yes, I promise, Dany," he sighed heavily, pulling her close so her face was tucked under his chin. "I promise." She continued to cry for what seemed like hours, until finally her sobs died out and she fell asleep against him, his arms wrapped around her. Her features were, if possible, even softer and prettier when she slept, and he thought it was most likely because she wasn't crying or scoffing or making any of the silly faces she enjoyed making so much.

Daenerys looked so angelic, and he realized now with some amount of envy, that she was far more beautiful than any of them had ever been. She was more beautiful than their mother, more gorgeous than Rhaegar, more perfect than _him_. Viserys realized, as he lay there with her, his gaze drinking in the perfect curve of her lips, the tiny nose which was now pink, the way her hair shone more silver in the moonlight than any other time of day, he realized then that he was truly doomed.

And she was his damnation.


	4. There Be Dragons Awakened

The first time Viserys hit her, she was only seven.

They had been moving from house to house, city to city, spending over a year on the road. Viserys' patience finally snapped one hot, uneventful evening. He came home to the dingy cottage inn they were residing in that week, only to find his sister was missing. Placing the fruit basket he had bought at the nearest Pentosi market on the table, he cracked his neck which was paining him more and more as of late. He called her name out several times, searched their dusty room thoroughly, and finally settled on his heels in the middle of the room, afraid that if he got up to find her he would surely harm her beyond what was acceptable in his current angered state.

Acceptable? No, it was his _duty_ to educate her about the ways and dangers of life, and if she didn't understand through talk, then a firmer hand might be needed. Viserys thought that she had begun to catch on to his teachings, but escaping their room in the darkness of the evening was simply not behavior he could condone for a seven year old. He would have to make her understand—forcefully if necessary—that they were in danger. That the reason they had to keep running wasn't just because his gold was dwindling, but something far more terrible was following their trail. He preferred renting in small cottages and taverns on the outskirts of cities, where the rooms were dusty, the smell was musky and the air was stale. Here the Westerosi lords and their hired swords wouldn't find them, for they wouldn't even think to look there. Just how long this little façade would last, Viserys could not say.

The young man waited for what seemed like hours until finally, there was a creaking in the door, and then there she was.

Daenerys looked as though she had been running through the woods for hours. There was a cut on her arm and one on her knee where her skin showed through the ripped material, but they appeared to be superficial wounds so Viserys ignored them for the time being. The dark breeches that had once been his were heavily torn at the knee and a slightly at the hip; he would need to find someone to mend them. Her shirt was in good condition, if not for the dirt and leaves stuck to it and the rest of her attire—minus her shoes. Viserys noticed that she wasn't wearing any. Dirt had caked itself deep under her toenails and he groaned mentally at how hard he would have to scrub her to get _that _out.

"Where are you shoes?" he asked quietly, so as to not startle her. Her eyes were wild, a dark, cool violet that was so close to late Rhaegar's indigo that his heart nearly beat out of his body from its sudden stutter.

"I lost them," she said, looking down at the floor. Ah, so she was going to play this game, was she?

He advanced on her quicker than she was ready, his hands closing tightly on her shoulders, his fingers digging in painfully before he shook her violently.

"Where are your shoes?" he bellowed into her face, tightening his grip and making her eyes water.

"They were stolen," she finally breathed out, gasping for breath as if someone was holding her head underwater. "Viserys, please, you're _hurting_ me!"

"Hurting," he laughed evilly, "_hurting_ you? ME?! Where in the seven hells did you go? Running through the woods like some wild girl child—you could've _died_!" He was losing the last shreds of his control; she had pushed him to the tipping point and now there were only two options available to him. Show her she was forgiven, but then she might do something stupid to endanger herself again in the future, and where would he go to take out his anger at this point? He couldn't just kill an innocent passerby, as much as he'd like to. Not only did a part of him know it would be wrong, but he also knew it would gain him nothing. And if there was one thing Viserys had become very good at, it was making useful deals with people and understanding the concept of equivalent exchange. So he decided the situation should go by means of the second option, where he would take out his anger on the person who had caused it, and show her, _teach _her in that same process, why exactly what she had done was so dangerous.

"You could've been killed," he said, softer than before, but his tone still had an edge of malice to it. "You could've been kidnapped or worse—_raped_," he hissed, bringing his face closer to hers so that he could stare directly into those innocent eyes he had come to love yet despise all at once.

"I don't know what that means—_please_, Viserys, I'm sorry—l promise I won't—"

"You _promise_?!" he exploded suddenly, picking her up and throwing her on the bed as easily as he would a doll. It creaked loudly when she hit it, and he half expected the innkeeper to peek her head though his door and tell them to quiet down. But no one came, and as he advanced on her, grabbing her ankles and pulling her down towards him, he saw something he had never seen in his sister's eyes before—anger. Or was it something else entirely?

"You promise," he laughed in her face as he pinned her wrists down with his hands. "You promise not to get _raped_? You don't know what that means, but then again why would you?" His eyes reduced to slits as he brought his face as close as he could without touching hers. "Rape is what horrible, evil men do to stupid, pretty little girls like you. It's degrading, it leaves you _worthless_, and it hurts more than any pain you've ever suffered through." He breathed against her face, letting go of her wrists and sitting back up. "You could have been _killed_, Dany." Her eyes found his and he saw a spark of hope there, whether it was from his use of her shortened name or from the fact that he had backed away, he couldn't tell. But it made him livid in that moment, and to prove his point further, he reached out and slapped her hard across the face. The resounding sound echoed in the room for many moments, finally being drowned out by the sound of her cries and pitiful sniffling as she curled herself in a ball, holding her face in her tiny hands.

"You don't understand, Daenerys," he said, suddenly feeling old, much older than his fifteen years should allow him to feel. Nearly sixteen, if he thought about it, since his name day was less than a month away. He sat down on the edge of their bed, his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands as he felt the ghosts of a thousand ancestors screaming for revenge weighing down on his tired shoulders. "I have to do everything within my power to keep us safe." He chanced a look at her and saw that her body was no longer shaking. She was still curled up, her hand against her face, hiding it, and he couldn't make out whether or not she would hate him if he tried to touch her.

"Dany, I—" His voice caught and he suddenly felt a knot forming in his throat. His eyes burned and he mentally cursed himself for being so weak that he couldn't even discipline a child without crying. Viserys hadn't cried since his mother had died, and he certainly didn't plan on doing so now. He sniffed loudly and let out a low, shaky breath. "Dany, I'm so sorry. You have to understand that there are people out there who will hurt us, who will hurt _you _just to get to me, who will—"his voice caught on the next word, "_spoil_ your innocence and hurt you more than anyone ever has."

"_You_ hurt me." She was suddenly right there, next to him, her eyes bright and red and wild and he suddenly couldn't remember why he would ever hurt such a beautiful, perfect creature.

"Others would hurt you far worse," he muttered, pushing silver-gold strands out of his eyes as he studied her. "My job is to protect you and discipline you, and teach you how to survive. If you can't even follow the simple instruction of waiting for me in the room while I go get us your favorite fruit…"

The room was quiet for a moment, and he winced at the lack of sound, suddenly needing to fill it with something, _anything_, or else he would go mad. Then, a small soft hand cupped his cheek and turned his face, and he closed his eyes, suddenly feeling embarrassed at his outburst, considering the possibility that he may have overreacted, he should have just talked to her, explained the situation; she was a smart girl—

"Viserys," she whispered, and then he knew she was closer to him for he could feel the press of her shoulder into his and he opened his eyes. "I'm sorry," she said, and she looked like she meant it. "I'm sorry I made you worry, I'm sorry I lost my shoes, I'm sorry I left—I shouldn't have done any of that. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry for hitting you," he said in a low voice, turning his face away from her so he wouldn't have to look at her, remember the way the slap had resounded between those walls, the way her body shook, the way the red print of his hand could still be seen on the paleness of her cheek.

"I'm sorry I put us in danger," she said, and he felt the bed sink behind him as she moved to sit there, her cheek pressed against his neck as her arms wrapped themselves around it. "I'll never do it again, I promise. Please don't stay mad at me." The last part had come out as a whisper, and it broke him further, a maddening sort of grief taking over him. Daenerys stiffened when she touched his face, and gasped loudly.

"Viserys!" she cried in shock, climbing onto his lap, her eyes huge and soulful, staring into the deepest, most hidden parts within his shattered heart. "Why are you _crying_?" Her fingers touched his face, and he realized he must be, for when she drew her hand away to show him, they were wet with his tears.

"I just don't know what I would do if anything ever happened to you." His voice cracked, his composure breaking as his arms wrapped around her. The child held him, wiped away his tears and then buried her face in his chest, sighing softly.

"I'll make sure I never scare you again, Viserys. You worry so much."

He smiled ruefully at that, his cheek resting atop her head as he considered just how much worrying he did on a daily basis. The prince worried about feeding the both of them, finding places to sleep in, educating and instructing her so she would have the proper upbringing of a lady, all whilst continuously having to move around to keep them out of reach of the Westerosi sellswords. His life was mainly comprised of worrying and personal sacrifices, Viserys concluded. He wondered if Dany knew just how much more worrying he would be doing now that she was growing so fast, and people were starting to notice her and her beauty, notice how nice of a prize she was. These people would venture, perhaps, to look over and notice him next to her, notice they weren't really a part of that city, or even that continent for that matter; they were really so strange and so different than everyone else, and yet...

His mind reeled, searching for some lost image he had once seen but chosen to forget. He stiffened for a moment, remembering his ancestral land was south of him, within the same continent that they were in; not in Westeros, where Aegon, Rhaenys and Visenya had conquered all and forged a throne of blood and steel with dragon's breath. And as he stroked her hair softly, physically unable to take back the slap but somehow wishing he could, he wondered if telling her about his ramblings was even a good idea. She was, after all, only a child, and children should be left to blissful ignorance as long as humanly possible, Viserys thought. Or was that a mistake on his part? And Viserys puzzled, and Viserys stroked fine, silver-gold hair, and Viserys realized he was slowly dipping into that deep, dark hole of utter madness.


	5. Pitiful

"My, my, what a pretty lil' thing."

Viserys stiffened, pulling Daenerys behind him as the large, dark man gave them a wolfish grin.

"She for sale?" he continued still in the Common Tongue—or some type of dialect, Viserys thought with a scowl—before taking a step closer. What had happened? One moment they were walking down a Tyroshi street they had been through countless times, the next moment they were passing Marya's pleasure house and some ignorant simpleton had decided to direct his attentions to Viserys' sister. He was a little more than insulted; he was enraged at the nerve of it all.

"Watch yourself, _ser_," Viserys spat, his hand slowly coming to rest on the hilt of his Valyrian steel dagger. It had been a gift to him from a benefactor in Myr called Veleo Soraz mon Daq during their short visit there. The man was neither royalty nor a ruler of the city in any way; he was simply a collector of trinkets, a man with an eye for a bargain, and an intelligent and capable merchant of ancient Ghiscari descent. They had been in Tyrosh for nearly two months now, and their new patron was in many ways different than his precursor. Valdyr Saeveryan was said to be descended from the ancient Freehold itself, sporting blue-violet eyes and straight blond hair. He was cunning and smart and witty, and a little too full of himself, whereas Soraz mon Daq had been generous, jolly and heartfelt; he truly had seemed interested in the young children and their stories, hardships and plans for the future. Viserys thought that Valdyr Saeveryan could do with a bit more intelligence, since he hadn't exactly thought of hiring a guard for his young protégées.

"Look'ere, boy," the man growled, and suddenly he was right up in his face, and Daenerys let go of his hand and backed away.

"Run, Dany! _Run!_" he shouted, but he couldn't turn to see if she had listened. The man had grabbed him by the front of his cloak and was shaking him, lifting him up off of his feet. He was far taller than Viserys had first realized, and the prince felt a pang of fear at his impotence to defend his sister or even himself.

"You lil' shit!" His breath smelled like old, decaying onions and cheap wine, and Viserys nearly puked from the disgust that started to build up in the back of his throat. "What am I gon' do with you now, huh? _You're_ no good to me."

"I have gold," Viserys begged, suddenly very afraid for his life. The man made a sound in the back of his throat that sounded half growl, half laugh, and shook his head, dyed dark purple hair swaying in the evening breeze.

"What good gold is gon' do me now, when I wanted a tight, little quim to warm me fat cock?" His fat lips puckered and then he chuckled darkly at the young prince. "You're no looker yourself with your pointy chin and thin lips; I can't even pretend you're a girl while you suck me off. You're no better than a corpse, boy. If you still had the girl you might have stood a chance, ye'might."

"Please, _please_," and Viserys let go of the man's wrists to pull out his Valyrian steel dagger, his only treasure besides their mother's crown, "here, my dagger—it's priceless, made from Valyrian steel. _Here_, take it," he gasped, waving it in front of his face with his last power. The man had to be at least thirty and well seasoned in battle, Viserys concluded, for he was tall and built for the fight; he stood at well over seven feet tall and would tower over men considered tall by Westerosi standards, if Viserys remembered correctly. The man barked out a laugh and dropped him, and Viserys howled as he landed on his ankle, twisting it and dropping the dagger to the floor. He tried crawling away and let out a string of curses as a sharp pain traveled up his leg when he moved his foot.

"Valeryon steel, eh?" the bastard mocked, pressing his boot against Viserys' ankle, making him yell out in pain. The mountain of a man chuckled at his anguish and bent down to pick up the Valyrian blade, turning it this way and that as if to assess the genuineness of the steel.

"Valyrian," gasped Viserys in relief when the foot was gone, "it's called Valyrian steel. You can have it, take it. Please," he moved backward a bit with the use of his hands and uninjured leg, "Please just spare me. I beg of you."

"Aye, boy. I'll take the knife, and your life with it." The man pulled out the huge sword that had been dangling at his hip; it glinted menacingly and the young man suddenly felt very much like a small child as he feared for his life.

"Please, don't!" Viserys shrieked in a surprisingly high-pitched voice, his arms going up in front of his face, shielding himself as he curled into a ball. "Please, you can have the gold, too. _Please. _Just take everything and leave me be." Shaking, terrified, and ashamed at how much of a coward he really was, Viserys held out a black velvet pouch, heavy with two week's worth of the average worker's earnings. The man growled as if displeased and snatched it from him, and the sixteen year old held his breath as he heard the criminal's footsteps fading away into the night.

Viserys stayed there for what seemed like ages before looking up and around, standing back up and dusting himself off as he frantically searched the shadows in the street for some sign of the dreadful bastard. After he assured himself that he was gone, he started walking home, wondering what Daenerys would say when he told her about what happened. He debated on what he should omit and how to change the story to seem less weak when he heard something that made his blood start to boil.

"Viserys!" It was her small, girly voice, and as he turned and saw her running towards him, her gorgeous silver hair flying behind her, something inside of him knew that she had seen the entire thing. Viserys suddenly snapped like a twig under pressure.

When she was finally standing in front of him, a small smile plastered on her face, he seized her by the shoulders and pulled her close, his voice low and menacing as he bent down to ask her why she hadn't gone straight home. Her smile faded quickly only to be replaced by confusion, and then—Viserys was going to murder the girl in her sleep tonight!—_pity_. What a callous and horrid sort of awakening; not only had she seen the entire thing, but she was pitying him for it, considering him a weak older brother, and much worse, insulting his vanity, pride and manhood.


	6. Coward

"I didn't—I couldn't leave you, I thought he was going to _kill_ you, I had to wait and see, make sure you were safe, I couldn't just _go_—"

"Oh, you had to wait and see, did you," he snapped, and he grabbed her by her upper arm tightly and started walking then, dragging her along as she struggled to keep up on much shorter legs than his. "You'll _see_ when we get back to the manse, I'll show you the real meaning of waking the dragon."

The next three streets were walked in silence, with only the sound of her gasps to keep them company as she tried to keep up with his long legs; his fingers pressed into the flesh of her arm so tightly she was sure to have bruises there by the next morning. Once the mansion came into view, Daenerys seemed to have an even harder time keeping up but he made no remark on it, and simply pulled her harder, hissing under his breath in annoyance.

The slaves made no remark as he led Daenerys past them, barely passing a glance their way, and by the time he was in her room she was flushed and gasping for breath, her hair wild and slightly curled in some places. A thin sheen of sweat was visible on her brow and upper lip, and as Viserys pushed his sister down on the bed, an odd, dreadful feeling started to grow inside of him.

"Why did you wait?" he asked her in a tight voice. "You saw everything, didn't you." The second wasn't really even a question; it was an accusation, and Daenerys winced at the threat in his voice.

"I told you, I was_ afraid_—"

"What have I taught you about doing exactly what I tell you to do?" He waited a few moments. "Tell me!"

His fingers hadn't left her upper arm, and as he towered over the girl and demanded an explanation, his hold angled her body unnaturally and most likely painfully, a thought that Viserys had with some relish. "Do you really want to _wake the dragon_?!" he yelled, shaking her hard to emphasize his point.

Daenerys gasped in pain, then snapped her head back and glared at him, her eyes violent and stormy and so impossibly dark he could have sworn they had turned black.

"I thought you said I had already awoken him," she mocked, her voice so derisive for a girl her age that Viserys wanted to throttle her and beat her bloody for one short moment. Instead, he let go of her arm and slapped her hard, climbing on top of her and straddling her small body as he shook with rage.

"You don't do anything without my specific accord, ever," he said coolly, slapping her again before pinning her wrists above her head. "You are a spoiled, unsavory child and you _will_ do as I command you to. I am the future king of Westeros and I _will_ be obeyed!" He tried to take a calming breath, but the shaking of his chest only reminded him of how angry she had made him, how far she had pushed him. He growled and smacked her again, harder than before, and she cried out finally, her face breaking into a grimace as he let go of her hands, letting her cradle her puffy, red cheeks. He decided he had broken past his control and done something he would surely regret in the morning, when a small voice broke the silence as well as his silent musings.

"He was going to kill you," she said quietly, "and you hit me because you're mad I saw everything." She paused then to catch her breath before continuing. "You were going to lie to me that you bought him off, I'm imagining, but you _begged_ him for your life and he almost killed you still, if not for your _stupid _gold and your _stupid _blade." He stared down at her aghast, sure his weight must be crushing her pelvis by now, but unable to break out of the trance of bloodlust she had put him in. Daenerys didn't realize, unfortunately for her, that she was slowly pushing him past the point of no return. She needed to be quiet, to understand what was best for her; Viserys knew she was a smart girl, after all—

"You're a _coward_," she finally spat, and when his eyes found hers he saw his own fiery rage reflected there, his own powerlessness at changing their way of life and cursed circumstances. He growled and got off of her, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling her roughly towards him, placing her middle on his lap as he started to push up her ivory colored dress.

"Viserys, what're you doing?!" she cried, squirming as she tried to get away. But Viserys was not letting her go anywhere, one strong arm bisecting her middle as the other continued to pull up the hem of her dress. She mewled like a kitten in pain when he had bunched it up around her middle and was divesting her of her small clothes, his hand deft and practiced.

"I'm administering a different kind of punishment," he said, then gasped when her pale little rump came into view. He was going to darken that smooth skin into a dark, terrible red, and the worst part was that he was going to enjoy it. How _dare_ the little brat call him a coward—_him_, the prince who would lay waste to all those who had ever hurt him or denied his birthright, the one true king and successor of Rhaegar Targaryen—Viserys thought he would fly into a rage from the enormous insult of it all.

"What have I told you about using that little condescending tone with me, Dany?" he said scornfully, slapping her hard and watching her flesh slowly bloom pink with his rage. "Calling your _king_ a coward? Do you realize that is considered _treason_?" Another slap. "I could have you killed for that. What kind of tactics must I employ in order for you to understand, quite simply, that I give you instructions for a very specific reason." Another slap, harder than the last. Daenerys whimpered and grabbed hold of the bed sheet, pulling it to no avail as he slapped her again and again.

"You could have died, Dany. You could have been killed. Tell me—what else?" _Smack_. "You should know the ending to that story."

"Or..raped," she whispered, but her voice was clear, not broken at all, and it made Viserys part mad and part sad that he wasn't even strong enough to frighten a little girl of nearly eight. "Or kidnapped," she finished more firmly, clearing her throat and wiping away her tears with one hand as she turned her head to stare at him.

Viserys was suddenly captivated by her deep, unrelenting gaze; crying had made her eyelashes come to life, glistening silver and wet against her dark eyes. As she stared at him and he stared back, Dany's eyes lit up slightly, the life and hope and happiness returning to their deep violet pools.

A bitter, horrible taste was in his mouth, and he felt like a predator overwhelming an impossibly innocent prey. He pulled her small-clothes back into place and pulled her dress down, turning Daenerys and lifting her to place her on the edge of the bed.

She gasped when he sat her down, and he realized his mistake—his pulsating hand reminded him curtly of the horrible marks he had left on her lower cheeks. Viserys laid her on her side, laying down on his side facing her, placing his left arm under his head as he brought up his red, burning hand to her face.

"This is all your fault—but I have forgiven you all the same as you in turn have forgiven me—and we will never do this again, right Dany? You will _always _obey what I say, yes?"

Her brilliant eyes turned as dark as the night around them, and she closed the space between them, embracing him and stunning him into silence. "You worry so much; but I won't do anything like that again. I promise." Her breath tickled his ear and he shuddered at her close proximity, not understanding why she was suddenly so open to him and his persona after what had just happened. "I will obey you, Viserys, and do as you please." She pulled back to stare at him, and now her eyes seemed lighter again, calmer somehow. It was as if she had pulled him into her embrace in order to slay him, but had changed her mind, going from fierce dragon to silly little lizard lion in a few seconds. Viserys was suddenly somehow afraid of her, small and innocent as she was, and he wondered whether she had any blades stashed away somewhere. He wondered if she was about to pull one out from under her bed and slash at his face when she suddenly spoke again. "I just want us to be happy. Can we please be happy? Just us? I wish we had a place of our own…I wish we could stop moving constantly."

Viserys could see the top of her glistening eyelashes closing, and he realized how tired she must be. Her arms came up to press against his chest, and he was about to reach around her and cage her in when she pushed him away. Daenerys turned around on the bed, and curled herself up before she started crying herself soundly to sleep.

The older brother, prince, future king of Westeros but currently king of no one, was suddenly very saddened and ashamed, angry and hesitant; he did not reach out or even try to touch her. He could not, even though he wanted to quite desperately. For Viserys wanted to hold Daenerys, and love her truly, and he wanted a happily ever after with her; the Westerosi singers making songs of their beautiful purple eyed children with fair hair, their conquering of Westeros and marriage to each other a legend of love and power that hadn't been seen since Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives.

So Viserys watched her as she fell deeply into sleep, and on one occasion, he thought he heard her mutter "Viserys" in her sleep, but decided that might have been his imagination after all, playing tricks on him as he fell deep into dreams of the future and other darker things he longed for every day, but always told himself might never, ever happen.

But they would, for Viserys was a king in his own right; he was the rightful heir to the throne of the Seven Kingdoms. His ancestors had forged it, and the blood of the dragon ran through his veins. He would see to it that the Usurpers would pay, every last one of them; and Dany would be there by his side, the entire time.

Or so it was in Viserys' dreams.


	7. Madness

"I look pretty with it on, don't I?" Daenerys asked.

"Yes, you do, Dany," Viserys replied, his thoughts scattered. She huffed impatiently.

"But you're not even looking!" she protested. He rolled his eyes in exasperation and paused the writing of his letter to turn and look at her. Did she really wish to wake the dragon at this time? She was sitting on the bed in her night gown, her silver hair in disarray, their mother's golden crown glinting at him like a bad omen. Viserys let out a slow breath and pushed his chair back.

"Come here," he said, and dainty, little Daenerys complied, coming to stand in front of him. She had changed and grown quite a bit in the past few months; her skin had started turning a creamy, golden color from living under the sun of Lys, contrasting beautifully with her long, pale hair and the brilliant violet of her eyes. Viserys could only think of how lovely she looked, and how badly he wished he would see her wear that very same crown in the future, standing by his side and ruling over all of Westeros. But it was in vain to hope for such things, and thinking of his sister and what her role should have been in his life kept leaving a bitter taste in his mouth every time he contemplated it.

"Sit," he ordered, motioning toward his lap, and she smiled a bit more hesitantly now before sitting gingerly on his leg.

"So does it look nice?" she asked in a low voice, as if they were plotting something wicked. Viserys grinned at her like a cat that had found cream instead of milk, and leaned his forehead against hers, his hand resting against her back.

"It looks…you look exquisite, Dany," he whispered against her face, and her eyes lit up like the stars outside.

"Do I look like mother at all? I know she was very beautiful, but I _am_ her daughter…You said once that I reminded you of her."

"And of Rhaegar when you're angry," he teased.

"But I thought our brother was a gentle, kind-hearted soul who played the harp and made maidens weep with the beauty of his music," she teased back.

"Your eyes become darker when you're angry. Rhaegar's eyes were darkest of purples."

"I wish I had your eyes, though" she said at once. "They're lighter and far prettier than mine."

"Don't be silly," he said abruptly, and the spell of the moment was gone. He nudged her off of his lap and turned his chair back to his desk, back to writing letters to people who, despite not being royalty, were far richer and more powerful than he was.

"What're you writing?" she asked, leaning over and placing her elbows on the table for a closer look.

"A letter," he replied, dipping his quill in ink and continuing where he had left off. Daenerys lingered for only a few moments longer before losing interest and going back to the bed.

"Come to bed already," she whined after a few more minutes, and Viserys glared at her, silencing her.

When he finally finished the letter and sealed it, placing it in the drawer of the desk, he looked over expecting her to have fallen asleep. But she wasn't sleeping.

Daenerys was laying down on her back, one leg crossed over the other, and she was bouncing it up and down in tune to the beat of the music playing outside. One of the taverns or pleasure houses down the street had singers playing tonight, and Viserys contemplated whether he should close the window before crawling into bed. He decided they might stop at one point during the night, and closing the window was barely an option seeing as though the lack of breeze would cook them in their room.

So he made his way over to the bed, unbuttoning his shirt as he went and debating whether or not he should tell her he had made plans regarding their mother's crown. Would she think him weak, perhaps? Viserys thought himself weak for falling trap to the whole thing, anyway.

Their gold had been diminishing so much in the past year that he had started doing random favors for powerful people in order to secure a safe dwelling for days or weeks at a time. Such favors included calculating the lords' riches, sending and receiving letters from other merchants, lords or investors, and giving advice on matters of marriage, trade, slaving deals and other things, all free of charge. But now they had only a couple of weeks left in Saldan Rovlenz' manse. The little amount of money that Viserys was able to provide him with, along with his signed contract of serving the merchant prince for three months was soon coming to an end.

They had lived nicely and quite comfortably here, Viserys concluded, slipping into his night shift. The prince had provided him and his sister with comforts beyond anything they had recently been accustomed to; Viserys realized with a pang of guilt that Daenerys had never actually experienced such luxury and comfort before this deal, and he was somewhat loathe to give it all up. Perhaps he would talk to the prince this week and make him another deal; perhaps that would save them from being homeless once again.

The young man turned his gaze to his sister as she had been very quiet; he was about to lie down and kiss her goodnight when the view before him made his breath catch in his throat. Dany's nightgown had ridden up her legs and it was bunched around her thighs. Long, creamy legs were exposed to his view, and as she continued to slowly bounce her leg up and down, the gown only slipped further down, revealing more. Viserys groaned at how indecent she was being, covering his eyes with one hand and laying his head down on his pillow, attempting to forgot what he had just seen.

"Viserys," said a soft voice, and then he felt her push her leg against his own, pressing her body into his side. He swallowed, breathing deeply in and out before opening his eyes to stare at her, hoping his racing pulse would slow down. Why was he getting overwhelmed by this? She was still a child of eight and a half, not even a young woman yet; she had no curves to speak of and her idea of a good time was trying on a pretty crown and acting silly.

"Yes, Dany" he said, his voice lower than normal, feeling her warmth seep into his side until it felt like a hot iron was pressing against him, burning him into madness.

"Do we really have to move out of the city before the month ends?" She sighed, her hand reaching over to run through his hair, her touch sending shivers down his body in a way it never had before. He could see her in his mind's eye then, see the beautiful, desirable woman she would become; yet when his eyes found hers he only saw a child. His pulse quieted, his mind stopped racing and he reminded himself once again that he loved Daenerys because she was his blood, his sister, his darling baby; he could not see her as a woman or want her as one, because she simply wasn't. The dark, disturbing feeling left him, and Viserys relaxed, putting his arm around her.

"We'll see," he said simply, rubbing her shoulder. "I'll speak to Saldan this week and offer my services for an extension. Perhaps the prince will know a good deal when he sees one." Viserys kissed her forehead and smiled. "Now, go to sleep, Dany. Your lessons begin early tomorrow; you'll need your rest."


	8. Caught

Viserys smiled at Saldan, trying to charm the man further as he clinked his glass to his. "To riches and good health, then! For you and your new son!"

Saldan grinned, his dark mustache creating a stark contrast against his pale face. The older, tremendously wealthy man belched loudly and placed his hand on his small, round belly, groaning before taking another sip of the honey colored wine. Viserys had never seen such a wine before, but the drink was so saccharine he found he didn't really care. He wondered for a split moment whether Dany was still taking her writing lesson when Saldan clasped his thigh loudly.

"Come, tell me Viserys, how have you and your sister been fairing?"

"Well your manse is lovely," Viserys immediately said, "and the comforts here have beyond any we've known since King's Landing." He cleared his throat, taking another sip of the light colored liquid. "That I've known, I mean to say, since my sister was born on Dragonstone."

"Yes, Dragonstone; where your ancestors laid for an entire century after the Doom before even looking upon Westeros to conquer it." The man's face had gone darker yet amused all at once." Tell me, my prince, why do you think they suddenly came up with the idea to do that?"

Viserys paled, certain he was being tested, and hesitant from the title Saldan always enjoyed teasing him with. "They had dragons," he replied, trying to make sure his voice didn't betray his uncertainty. "They were sure they could win, so they conquered."

"Yes, I'm sure they did. Tell me, what does your sister know of your lineage?"

"She knows all there is to know," he replied cautiously, uncertain where this was going.

"Does she know of the other families that survived the Doom of the Freehold?"

"They weren't Dragonlords," Viserys said at once, forgetting himself. "The Targaryen's were the only ones who still had dragons after the Doom."

"And yet, here you stand, a Targaryen without a dragon!" the man chuckled, his brown beady eyes assessing Viserys in a way that made him feel like a scared, eight year old little boy again, fleeing King's Landing with his mother, Daenerys only a budding bean of flesh in Rhaella's belly.

"I don't have dragons, but I have the blood of the dragon running through my veins." Viserys kept his voice low and polite, hoping to go for partnership rather than ownership. "When I come into my crown, I would be sure to remember all those who were loyal to me."

"If it's loyalty you want, you're looking in the wrong place," the man barked suddenly, his laugh echoing loudly in the lavish room, startling Viserys slightly. What did he even mean by that? Viserys set his glass aside and leaned back in his chair, the dinner suddenly becoming a foreboding, unpleasant affair.

"Your forefathers came and conquered us centuries ago, this entire continent was theirs. The Empire of the Valyrian Freehold stretched across this entire half of Essos. Then after The Doom they ignored everyone's pleas for help while they basked away on Dragonstone off the coast of Westeros." The man looked serious now, and Viserys felt the tension rippling in the room. "Why did they do that, I wonder."

"I don't know," Viserys admitted, and raised his head to counteract his non-princely answer. "And that is exactly why I need loyal people by my side, royal advisers if you will, who would be rewarded splendidly not only with lands and riches but also my friendship, and—"

"What you need is a nice girl to warm your bed for the night," the man chuckled, slapping his knee. "Come, I'll let Amora come to your room tonight and soothe your worries. She's well-versed in the pleasures of men."

"I don't need a sullied _whore _to pleasure me," Viserys answered, his tone uneven. "Women come to me willingly or not at all; I am a _dragon_."

"Then perhaps a virgin?" the man taunted, and Viserys realized he was quickly losing track of where the conversation was going; how would he ask him about extending their stay at this point in the game? The man was outwitting and outmaneuvering him, making him feel like a pupil would with his unimpressed teacher.

"I don't want—" he tried.

"Alyson will keep you company tonight," the man said gruffly, settling the matter, his eyes sparkling evilly. "Then we will discuss what you will tomorrow when your thoughts are refreshed, and your needs are _met_." He paused. "And I will grant you one last favor before your departure next week." The man inclined his head towards Viserys, dismissing him. "You may go, young prince."

Viserys swallowed, his mouth going dry as he nodded and wiped his mouth on a white cloth before leaving his seat, unsure of what to do now. He'd be lying to himself if he said he didn't want a virgin; he had only slept with three girls before, one a tavern owner's daughter, one a fisherman's daughter, and another a wealthy, spoiled bastard daughter fathered by a Pentosi merchant prince. All of these girls had been broken in well before Viserys had ever had the chance to look upon them, and he had always wondered what it would feel like with a girl who was pure and untouched.

When he got back to their rooms, he saw his sister lounging on the armchair a few paces away from his desk, a book in her hand. She was sitting on it in a very unladylike way, her legs spread carelessly and dangling off of one arm, while her back rested against the other arm, a pillow tucked between the hard wood and her soft flesh. Viserys saw with dismay and nervousness that her dress had ridden up past her knees, revealing the curve of her pale, delicate thighs and calves.

"Dany," he snapped, and she jumped, scrambling to sit properly on the chair; her book lay forgotten on the floor as she had dropped it in her surprise, and Viserys smirked at her, bending over to pick it up. Her cheeks flushed and he gave her a questioning look before shuffling through the pages, his confusion melting away when the back of his neck started burning like the sun.

Daenerys had been looking through the Lyseni prince's less child-friendly collection of books; the one which he currently held contained passages of intense love affairs, positions of coupling in detailed descriptions, and even pictures on some pages to demonstrate the perversions in question. Viserys' nostrils flared, and his gaze narrowed at her, his eyes taking in her flushed appearance with a dubious stare. What had she been doing?!

"Where did you get this?" he asked quietly, and she flinched at the sinister note in his voice.

"I don't know."

"Tell me _now_, and there will be no need to wake the dragon. Where did you find the book, Dany?"

"In your desk," she said softly, her face flushing even darker, if possible, as she looked away.

"My desk," he said with surprise, not realizing _that_ been tucked away somewhere the entire time. "And why would you be going through my desk, Daenerys?"

"I only wanted to find parchment," she said, pointing to the scribbles and drawings all over the papers which lay on his desk.

"And then what happened?"

"I—well, I found it by accident. It wasn't on purpose, _honestly_, Viserys."

"What were you doing before you heard me coming down the corridor? Before I came into the room," he demanded, his voice sharp.

Her eyes found his and she glowered at him before looking away once more.

"_Daenerys_," he said firmly, losing his patience and grabbing her chin to force her to look up into his eyes. "What—were—you—doing?"

He shook her head with each word, his grasp on her chin becoming tighter right before he let her go and stepped back. "Stand up," he commanded, suddenly furious at her for engaging in such perversions when she was still so very young. He had started touching himself at the age of seven, it was true, but she was a _girl_, and girls simply did not do such base, depraved things.

"I'm not going to repeat myself," he said, grabbing her and dragging her towards the bed. He shoved her down on it and began to lift up her cerulean dress when she let out a keening, animal-like sound, desperately trying to crawl away from him on all fours.

Viserys grabbed one of her ankles, but then she kicked him with the other, and the young man gasped, the air knocking out of his lungs when her foot found his chest again before going for his stomach. He fell back in pain, a part of him furious with her and a part of him surprised and slightly afraid; as he saw her scrambling off the bed, the furious side won and he threw himself on her back with all of his weight, trapping her down beneath him. The girl cried out like a lion trapped and thrust her skull back, missing his face by a couple finger's width. Completely shocked yet very amused at her outbreak, he laughed darkly then, something horrible inside of him awakening as he pressed her upper torso down into the floor, his fingers sinking into her hip and pulling her back against him.

"Let's see what sweet,_ little_ Daenerys was up to before I came in the room," he said breathlessly, his hand finally pulling her dress up and pushing its way inside her small clothes.


	9. Naughty Girl

Daenerys whimpered when Viserys' hand found her skin, his fingers not even needing to touch her intimately to ascertain what she had been doing; her inner thighs were coated in her release, and she wished the ground would swallow her whole when Viserys let out a slow breath.

"Ah, so you _have_ been a naughty girl," he hissed in her ear, removing his hand from her small clothes. Viserys lifted his body off of hers slightly as he turned her over. When she was lying on her back, he sat back on her thighs, pressing her into the mattress as he leaned over and brought his hand up to her face, showing her his glistening fingers. "Would you like to tell me what you were doing before I came in?"

She stared up at the ceiling, her neck and chest blazing with heat and embarrassment as a small shudder ran through her. "I was only playing," she said meekly.

"Playing," he chuckled darkly, his fingers rubbing together as if to assess the texture of the substance that had leaked out of her. "What were you thinking about while you were playing; tell me. _Now_."

Her eyes found his and she realized there was no point in crying or arguing; she would only wake the dragon by provoking him, and in the end he would get his way regardless. He wiped his fingers against his breeches, still looking at her in an odd, disconcerting way that made her heart beat much too fast.

"I didn't really know what I was doing," she tried desperately, but he only glared at her, grabbing her right hand and bringing it close to his face to inspect it, forcing her to sit up. Viserys pulled her hand to his face to smell it, his face twisting into a malicious smile before he let go of her.

"I think you're lying, sweet sister," he said smoothly, "and I think you know exactly what's going to happen if you don't do as I say. You don't want to wake the dragon, do you?"

There was a frightening sort of madness brewing in his pale lilac as he studied her closely, and Daenerys felt her cheeks burn at what he was asking her to do.

"No," she replied, her voice going soft and compliant. "Viserys, I'm sorry for doing it."

"You still haven't answered me," he admonished, and he placed his hands on either side of her face, bringing his face closer to hers. "Tell me what you were thinking about while you were _playing_, Dany."

"I was…" She was at a loss of what to say. What had she been thinking about? When her writing tutor left her, she had wanted to practice her penmanship, so she had searched for papers in Visery's desk. After some time spent writing, Daenerys had started drawing and creating designs, bored with her letters. Since she had used up an entire stack of parchment, she had been looking for more of it when she had encountered a dusty, old volume in the lower, left-hand-side drawer of the writing desk.

Reading about intimacy hadn't been what had set her off; the illustrations had been the cause for that. One illustration in particular featured a man spreading a woman's legs and placing his mouth against her most private area; the woman seemed to be in exquisite pleasure, and the story explained in great detail how his tongue felt against her flesh. Dany had never heard of anything like it before, assuming that what men and women did in bed together was for the sake of creating children, and that if there was any pleasure involved, it was surely on the man's part rather than the woman's. Viserys' cool hand against her cheek brought her back to the moment, and she blinked, finding his eyes on her.

"I was looking through the book," she whispered, noticing now that he didn't look as aggravated as before. He nodded as if approving, but she knew better; he was only motioning for her to continue. "I saw images that," she hesitated slightly, "looked very strange. They made me _feel _strange, and—" Daenerys took in a deep breath, letting it out shakily. "I didn't even know what I was looking at, at first."

"Go on," he said calmly, and he removed his weight from her body, laying down next to her propped up on his elbow, mirroring what she would do as a small child when she listened to his bedtime stories.

"I saw—something," she continued, wincing at how girlish her voice sounded, even to her own ears. "It gave me peculiar thoughts." She sat up, tucking her legs beneath her as she leaned back into one arm.

"What sort of thoughts?"

"Thoughts that made me feel good," she answered simply, not knowing how to explain in words what the images had awoken in her. Viserys smirked at her confession, his handsome face smug.

"Show me," he said, and she nearly fainted for a moment, thinking he meant for her to show him what she had been doing; instead he snatched the book from the bedside table, placing it between them, his gaze expectant. Daenerys leafed through the pages timidly, coming to rest on the first image she had remembered feeling drawn to.

"This," and she pointed to the illustration, apprehensive at what he would say and think of her. The woman was lying on her back, her eyes closed as her lover pressed kisses onto her breasts, his hand buried between her legs. Viserys frowned at the page after examining it, his eyes searching hers when he looked back up.

"Was this all?"

"No," she whispered, so quietly she was sure he might not have heard it. But he did, for he nodded at her as if to tell her, _go on and show me_.

Dany finally found the page, placing the book down in front of him and waiting patiently. Viserys' eyes went wide for a moment before he pulled the book closer, his eyes flickering over the image like burning candles. One long, pale finger reached out to brush against the faded page, tracing the figure of the woman before resting on the man whose head lay between her legs, pleasuring her. Daenerys felt a void inside of her then, like an emptiness that had suddenly opened up and would soon devour her from the inside until she was left with nothing.

"I see," her brother said finally, and then he shut the book, giving her a curious look before he got up from the bed, walking over to his desk and placing it inside a drawer. His gaze swept over her once more, his expression unreadable before he left the room, leaving her alone to her thoughts and worries.

What would become of her now, Daenerys wondered. A part of her wished she had never touched the book, while another even now begged her to go and grab it once again, for there were pages left untouched, stories and images yet to be explored. She groaned and leaned back on the bed, wishing she could understand what she was feeling.

She had never touched herself in such a way before today, had never considered it before she had seen naked bodies coiled in pleasure, reaching for one another other within the pages of that damned book. When she had found a detailed image of a woman with her legs spread wide, touching the topmost part of her private anatomy, Daenerys' hand had reached down almost of its own accord, searching for that same spot, eager to see if reality matched the page. Thus she had found a part of her she never even knew was there; a tiny button of sorts, which if pressed in the right way with the right amount of pressure would push her body into an incontrollable, shaking fit of pleasure.

It wasn't like any other kind of pleasure she had ever experienced before; she found that it overwhelmed her in a way that only strong emotions had ever overwhelmed her, feeling powerless to control her reactions. It was a kind of pleasure that left the young girl feeling terribly guilty, now that she reflected on it. There was a part of her that knew her actions needed to be completed by a man's in order for her to feel properly pleasured, but the thought of full grown nude men frightened her deeply.

She was still so young, she reasoned with herself; her body didn't look one bit like the bodies of the naked women in that book. Daenerys suddenly felt very lost and distraught; a part of her wondered when she would finally grow into such a young woman, eager to engage in acts like those depicted in the illicit novel, while another part of her felt guilty for even wanting to grow and experience such things.

And Viserys, what would he think of her after knowing all of this? He had repeatedly told her how the Targaryens married brother to sister or cousin to cousin for centuries to keep the bloodline pure. Was that what was expected of her as well? To one day marry her brother and help him rule Westeros as his queen? Dany didn't think she could take on such a responsibility, and thinking about being closer to her brother than she already was made her stomach quiver in panic. There was just no easy way to broach the subject with him, and it left her confused about what their relationship was slowly turning into. She feared he'd get furious if she asked him about his future intentions regarding her, and whether or not he would take her for a bride as was their family's way. The more she thought about the possibility of having to be involved with him in that way, the more the panic grew inside of her until it consumed Daenerys completely, leaving her feeling even more betrayed at his earlier attack.

How was she going to live with him so closely and share his bed someday when he showed, quite clearly, that he didn't bother himself with her emotions or physical comfort? He had pushed her down on the bed without a second thought to how violated she would feel, and when his hand had first come into contact with the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, she had been certain he would take things much further than he had. But then Viserys had surprised her as he always did, and simply made her expose her own deviousness to him, taking some sort of sick pleasure in her embarrassment and lack of knowledge regarding her own body.

Daenerys was having none of that, however. She was going to explore every inch of it from now on, and take note of every change she observed. If there was one thing she was going to control utterly and completely from now on, it was her body, Dany decided. And neither Viserys nor any other man could ever tell her what to do with it, she told herself firmly, hoping that the day she might be proven wrong would never, ever come.


	10. The Purest of Presents

Saldan Rovlenz had really outdone himself, Viserys mused. He shut the chamber door behind him with a snap, startling the young girl currently occupying the over-sized featherbed. He had left his own room in a rush before he could make a decision regarding Daenerys; she had disappointed him by going through his writing desk, but she had also intrigued him immensely.

Viserys couldn't understand how a girl so young was already responding to visual stimuli in such a manner; he pondered for a moment whether it had anything to do with her dragon's blood, this early sexual awakening. When he had first confessed of his own issues to Maester Pycelle, before the Sack of King's Landing, before Rhaegar's death on the trident, the bearded wise man had told him it shouldn't be cause for worry, and that most likely his Dragonlord heritage had sped up his sexual maturity. The young prince pictured how lovely the man's head would look like on a pike, adorning the outer walls of the Red Keep along with the other betrayers and usurpers, that long, white, beard flowing in the wind like a flag.

"My lord," the girl said, standing up and bowing deeply to him, giving him a good view of her ample cleavage in the process. Straightening back up, she nervously dusted off her simple white dress, looking toward him but not quite at him before she sat back down. He noted sourly that she didn't wait for his approval before sitting, but he found he was too captivated by her chest to comment on it.

"You must be Alyson," Viserys said, offering her a charming smile, one she didn't see in her flustered state as he sat on the edge of the bed, his knee touching hers and making her jump. The girl flushed a brilliant shade of pink and lowered her gaze to the floor, and he was so close now that he could see the small freckles scattered all over her nose, cheeks, shoulders and chest. They were faded, as if she wasn't being let out in the sun long enough; her skin was milky perfection, lighter than even his or Daenerys', as theirs had darkened slightly from exposing themselves to the Lyseni sun so much.

"Yes, my lord—"

"Your _grace_, I'm sure you mean, for you are addressing the future King of the Seven Kingdoms," Viserys corrected her, not unpleasantly. She paled then, the color draining away from her face as she looked down again, nodding violently, as if terribly afraid to displease him. He brought one hand to her chin, tilting it up so he could look upon her face. Her hair was perfectly straight, a dirty blond that amounted to at least six different shades of gold. Her eyes were a lovely light brown, and now that she was staring at him rather than the floor, he could see the hazel freckles inside of them. She was freckled everywhere, even in her eyes, Viserys thought amusedly. He smirked at her as he wrapped his fingers around her throat, his thumb rubbing the pulse point above her clavicle, feeling with some sick delight how the skin there lifted erratically.

"Tell me," he said slowly. "Why you and not any other maiden?"

"I—I don't really know, your grace." He could feel the vibration of her voice under his hand, and he tightened his grip on her neck, making her whimper softly.

"I don't like liars," Viserys said scornfully, pulling her so close that her breath mingled with his own. "Tell me the truth or I'll fuck you bloody and then kill you in the most intimate, horrible way I can think of before delivering your bruised body to your father…_limb _by _limb_." He was being very harsh, he told himself, taking out part of the anger he had reserved for his sister on this innocent girl.

"I'm so sorry, your grace," she tried, but he shook his head, pushing her down on the bed and climbing on top of her, pinning her wrists above her head.

"The truth, Alyson," he breathed against her mouth, and she bit her lip, her eyes squeezing shut. Something about this situation reminded him of something else, and he realized perversely that she was the second maiden he had pinned down that day in such a manner.

"It's because I'm his daughter," she whispered, and Viserys tightened his grip on her wrists at the disturbing information.

"Saldan's daughter?" he asked, a part of him not wanting to believe her. "Tell me!"

"Y-yes," she gasped, her eyes opening and staring into his. "A bastard daughter, but I'm his blood nonetheless."

"Ah, so he wanted me to fuck his illegitimate daughter and give him silver haired pups, is that it?" he snapped haughtily, his hands tightening so hard that he could see the tips of her fingers turning a bruised, purple color.

"I don't know, my lo—your grace," she quickly corrected herself. "He's been saving my purity and hand in marriage for a greater purpose, for an important person I was always told. Until tonight, when he ordered me to present myself to this chamber and let you take what was yours. A prince's right, he called it," and her face took on a softer look, reminding Viserys of her frail age and innocence. She couldn't have been younger than fifteen or sixteen, judging by her bosom, yet her face showed more youth than her body did. Viserys considered asking her, but her father might have told her to lie in order to ensure their coupling.

"He sees it as a gift befitting a prince—"

"And a prince's downfall, should I leave any _bit_ of me behind," Viserys countered acidly, letting go of her wrists and getting off of her. "I know what he wants; he wants a chance to see his blood on the Iron Throne one day, but he's daft if he thinks I'm not in on his little plans."

"Your grace, please don't be upset," said Alyson, and she came closer to where he was sitting, his face set in a scowl.

"Your father has insulted me, girl," he hissed, turning to look at her for merely a moment before looking away again; wanting nothing more than to hit her, _hurt_ her, send her bruised and broken back to her father so the man would understand that Viserys was certainly not an individual to play games with. "I specifically told him I don't take whores into my bed, so he sends me you, his bastard virgin?"

"If I have offended you, my prince, please allow me to make up for my mistakes." He turned back to her then, and was surprised at finding her so close to him, her earthy eyes staring deeply into his. Much like her father's eyes, Viserys realized, and it only infused him with more irritation.

"What do you _want_ from me?" His voice was cooler and calmer now, and he suddenly felt very weary and not at all in the mood for the pleasures that coupling usually offered.

"I wish to please my father," she replied, her voice soft as her hand touched his. "And I wish to please _you_." Viserys looked down at the contrast between their skins; hers milky pale and delicately soft, his own skin rougher and darkened by the sun; his hand so much larger than hers that a thought came back to him unbidden.

"What is your age, Alyson?"

"I'm nearly fourteen, your grace."

A vision of a blushing Daenerys lying beneath him suddenly flashed in front of his eyes and the prince struggled to push his disturbing, blameworthy thoughts away. "So your father takes me for a violator of children, as well?" He was going to throw her out of the room now, and he stood up, grabbing her by the shoulders and lifting her from the bed. "I made myself very clear and this is not an insult I can take," he snapped, his face twisting maliciously.

"I am _not_ a child, your grace," and for the first time, Viserys detected annoyance in Alyson's tone. Her eyes flashed darkly and he let go of her shoulders, taking a step back and suddenly feeling very wrong for being in this situation to begin with. She stepped closer to him then, her head leaning back to maintain his gaze as he towered over her by more than a head.

"Then what are you, if not a child?" he asked, feeling defeated and exasperated. For Viserys knew that Alyson was no child, not in the true sense of the word; he wondered, as he stared at that plentiful bosom, if her father had been telling the truth regarding her innocence, but he decided he might very soon find out anyway.

"I'm not a woman grown, and I know I probably won't be the prettiest girl you have ever lain with," how wrong she was to think so low of herself, Viserys thought bitterly, "but consider this—I do come willingly. My father was intent on making sure I agreed to it, as he said women came willingly to a prince of royal blood, or not at all."

Viserys found himself moving towards her without even realizing it, drinking in her melodious voice and warm, smiling eyes. But when her knees hit the edge of the bed and she looked back in surprise before turning to him and grinning, he snapped out of the lustful spell and looked at her with some amount of trepidation. He had never taken a girl by savage, had never really needed to, but a horrible part of him believed that he might do it tonight if the girl changed her mind.

His hands reached up slowly, his fingers finding the laces of her ivory gown, and he noted with detest that the color had most likely been chosen to purposefully show off the girl's purity. Losing patience and feeling cheated in some odd way by her old man, Viserys grabbed the thin material of the dress and ripped it open, revealing her breasts to his hungry eyes. Alyson gasped loudly and in an unexpected moment of self-preservation, covered herself with both hands.

Viserys glared at her and shook his head, indicating that this wasn't behavior he condoned in such a situation. The girl bit her lip nervously, her cheeks a bright pink color as she lowered her hands. He pushed the material down over her creamy skin, crouching down to get it past her hips and standing back up when she was divested of all materials. He stood back to observe her curves and the way her hips flared attractively, admiring the way her breasts hung like fresh, plump fruits despite her insubstantial age. Then again, he was only a few years older than her at seventeen, so he probably shouldn't be thinking of her age as so much different from his own. Viserys had to tell himself these lies in order to continue doing what he was doing; for there was probably some sort of special, terrible hell reserved for young men like him who not only broke and corrupted young girls, but took such twisted, perverse delight from it all. When his large hand pressed against her breast, barely covering its tender flesh, a shudder went through him at the thought that he was the first to touch her in this manner.

Viserys divested himself of clothing faster than he thought possible before pushing her down onto the bed and pressing her into it, his knee slipping between her thighs to part her shaking legs. He noted that her pubic hair was darker than her head, a coarse, dirtied golden color that appeared even darker against her pale complexion.

When his thin lips found her softer, plumper ones, Alyson sighed into his kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck as his hand found her lower lips. She was already wet, but when he pushed one finger inside of her she gasped loudly, a mewling sound escaping her when he started to move, the muscles around his fingers becoming impossibly tight. He swallowed his hesitance down, his mouth on her neck as he added in another finger, the girl beneath him making noises so terrible that he was sure to fuck her bloody without a thought to her comfort if she couldn't be silent.

"Alyson," he gasped, his fingers curling into her and then she cried out, her nails digging into his back as she stared at him, face flushed and eyes wide. "If you don't quiet down I'm afraid I might lose what's left of my control."

"Then lose it," she whispered, but it was a challenge rather than an order. Viserys growled into her neck, his fingers slipping out of her as he positioned himself above her, his eyes flickering over her curves as the blood rushed down and rendered him painfully hard. He pushed against her opening, feeling her wetness dripping down onto his cock, making it twitch with a desperate need to be buried inside of her. The girl moaned in pain as he pushed in, and Visery stilled completely at the feeling of her wrapped around him, so wet and warm and impossibly tight that he thought he might die.

He had never known what being with a virgin could do to a man, how it could make a man feel, or how it could _change_ a man forever. As he sheathed himself inside of her with another deeper push, breaking past the skin inside and establishing her womanhood, he groaned with pleasure at the tight, hot sensation, Alyson's nails sinking into his back so harshly he was sure she was drawing blood. He peppered kisses over her entire face, and she made desperate, needy sounds as he pulled out and pushed back in, over and over again, claiming her as his. Viserys looked down to where their bodies joined, and a mad passion grabbed hold of him as he saw how beautifully they contrasted; dark hair against pale hair, light skin against tanned skin, and sharp, angular hips against round, fleshy ones.

Viserys pulled out then, a sudden, dark need taking over him as he turned her body so she was on all fours and entered her swiftly and deeply, eliciting a broken moan from her; whether it was in pain or pleasure or both, the young prince could not say. All he could do was feel the exquisite perfection of Alyson's body against his, the way her hips trembled under his fingers as he held her tightly and buried himself inside of her. When he looked down again and saw fresh, crimson blood coating his privates, he didn't stop and couldn't stop even if he had wanted to; the thrusting of his hips was becoming more erratic with every passing minute as he grew closer and closer to his release. Her moans became strangled cries when he brought his hand to her pelvis, his fingers rubbing harshly against her pleasure point, wondering if he could make her find her own release despite the pain she had just experienced. Alyson proved to be more than willing to fall into his trap of pleasure as she twisted and shuddered beneath him, crying out again and again as he pushed himself into her almost violently now, his fingers continuing their assault on her heated flesh. Viserys found the soft skin of her neck, sinking his teeth into it and marking her as he approached utter fulfillment; he pulled out of her then, holding himself in one hand as his seed shot out of him, the spurts landing on her buttocks and lower back.

The young prince was no fool; he would take a gift and enjoy it completely when given to him so freely and openly. Yet he would not be leaving any souvenirs behind for her to birth and raise; Viserys had experienced firsthand the trials and terrors of an orphaned upbringing, and leaving a child of his own to a life that he hadn't chosen for it was out of the question. He couldn't know what the future held for this young, beautiful girl, and he didn't want to know; burdening her with a child would not only complicate his life in the future if that bastard decided to claim his or her rights to the throne, but it would complicate his life even now if he knew of its existence while it was a babe.

Viserys already had a child to raise and take care of. If he ever found out he had fathered a child he simply wouldn't feel right leaving it solely to the care of its mother; so the logical thing to do, he thought, was to never father a bastard to begin with. For adding another child to the situation would only make it that much harder for him to take back his kingdom when the time came, and there were already many obstacles he had to overcome in order to achieve that one goal; another thing holding him back was not something the young man wanted.

He watched as Alyson slumped down on the sheets, tired and panting heavily, her hair plastered against the wet skin of her back. And Viserys suddenly wondered, a dreadful, guilty feeling growing inside of him, just how much their wasted child would have resembled him.


	11. Dreaming of Dragons and Wolves

Her brother did not return that night, nor did she see him the next morning at breakfast; by the time the sun was disappearing into the darkness of the Narrow Sea, Dany wondered if he was avoiding her on purpose. She went about her day as normally as she could, but a nagging feeling in the back of her skull made her feel as if she were secretly being watched. After eating dinner in the manse's main hall she retired to her rooms, assuring herself that when her brother was ready to speak with her, he would come of his own accord, and not a moment before.

Daenerys dreamt of fire and blood that night; a silver dragon bathed a wolf in fire as another struggled in chains howling, the beast cackling at their pain before his face shifted, turning into her brother's. He was chasing her around the lemon tree, and she was three again, laughing wildly and collapsing into a fit of giggles when he caught her by the waist, lifting her and throwing her high up in the air only to catch her with a grin, again and again.

Then he was fading, and she came upon a castle made of stone and ice, so warm on the inside that she questioned where all the heat could possibly be coming from. A fiery-haired woman was keening in terrible pain as she gave birth in one of the rooms, midwives gathered about her as she pushed and panted and howled with the agony of it all. There was so much blood Daenerys feared for a moment that the child was stillborn, but then a baby's cries ripped through the momentary silence and the vision changed.

Two children with auburn hair, a boy and a girl, cooed at a bundle wrapped in thick furs within their mother's arms. She was sure it was the same woman she had witnessed giving birth only moments before. Daenerys' feet led her closer so that she stood next to the bed, a ghost unseen as she looked upon the new babe. Eyes the color of pale steel met hers, and a shiver went down her spine; the babe stared at her as if he could see her! Daenerys noted how different he looked from everyone else in the room; the wisps of dark hair and grey eyes set him so apart from his relatives that Dany might not have believed they were blood related had she not just witnessed the birth herself. "May I hold her, mother?" the red-headed toddler exclaimed with joy, reaching her hands towards the bundle, and then the scene shifted again. The woman from before was much older now, crying tears of blood, her hair white and brittle as a corpse's, her agony plain on her twisted face as she stood beneath a white tree under a full crimson moon. There was a face carved into the tree, but before Daenerys could take a better look the image melted away.

Dany found herself staring into a face that was deathly pale with one red eye and a branch growing out of the other eye socket. "Blood of the dragon," the face whispered eerily, "you must come home soon. Winter is coming in a few short years, and the wolves will perish in the long night without their dragon friends. As will all of Westeros."

"Wolves?" Dany asked, confused at what he meant. "I am the blood of the dragon, but there aren't any dragons left. I have no dragons." She was falling away, and horrible panic choked her, an inexplicable desperation to know what he meant taking hold of her. "Please—"

"Look for the sister of the prince that was promised. She will lead you to him." His voice was fading.

"How will I know who she is?" Dany asked, and the eerie face almost seemed to smile.

"You will know, blood of my blood. For you have already seen her." And then she was falling.

Daenerys woke with a start, her breath coming out in heavy gasps as she sat up; noticing the sheet beneath her was soaked in her sweat she let out a groan, suddenly very eager to bathe.

"Dreaming of dragons, sweet sister?" She froze, startled, and turned to see her brother standing by the window, a shadow against the blinding light pouring through its open shutters. He reached her in a few long strides as Dany waited patiently, trying to think of an answer that would appease him.

"I dreamt of dragons," she said carefully. "We were riding them." Viserys' eyebrows shot up at that in disbelief, but then he smiled, reaching out and brushing her hair lightly.

"Tell me, Dany. Tell me of this dragon dream." He sat on the edge of her bed, his expression expectant.

"We—we were riding dragons over the Narrow Sea, above Westeros, and when we reached King's Landing the Usurper King defied us and denied your power, so you had your dragon burn him alive in the throne room." She knew such a thing would please him greatly and she wasn't mistaken in the least; his lilac eyes lit up and he broke into a feral grin.

"What color was the dragon I was riding?"

"Black," Dany said immediately, remembering a story he had once told her about the greatest dragon that had ever lived, a great black winged creature of monstrous size that Aegon the Conqueror had ridden into battle, defeating the Westerosi kings and claiming his title as their ruler.

"And yours?"

"Red."

"Like our house colors," he mused with a smirk. "How fitting." He paused, his gaze running over her in a way that made her feel like he didn't quite believe her, or not entirely in any case. "Was that all?"

"No," she said slowly, thinking it might be safe to explain parts of her last dream. "I saw a face that spoke to me, and told me we had to return to Westeros as soon as possible." She decided it would be safer to include him, although a part of her felt that there _must _be a reason why the face had specifically appeared in her dreams and not his. Just as there might be a reason her brother was never mentioned by the pale face. Was Viserys going to leave her soon? Dany certainly hoped not, but she couldn't possibly voice her concerns for fear of angering him.

"What face? What do you mean?" he snapped, his demeanor changing in a heartbeat.

"It was a pale face with one red eye and the other eye…" She trailed off, trying to find a way to explain something that she herself didn't fully understand. "The other eye wasn't there; a branch was growing from his eye socket. He looked…" And she stopped, alarmed at what she had just realized. "He looked familiar. He reminded me of you somehow."

"_Me_?" he asked, his eyes going wide. "I don't have branches growing out of my head just yet," he teased her, and she smiled tentatively, hoping his sour mood had dissipated completely. "Well then? What else did he tell you?"

"He said that winter was coming in a few years time and that the wolves would die without their dragon friends."

"Wolves," Viserys said sharply. "One of the Usurpers has a wolf as his house sigil. Surely your dream was nonsense, for when we take back the seven kingdoms, treating the wolves as friends will be the last thing I do."

"He also said to find the prince that was promised, although I'm not sure what that even means." Her brother frowned, confusion written across his face.

"Why do I feel like I've heard that somewhere before…" He trailed off, shaking his head and smiling again as he grabbed her hand in both of his, rubbing it gently. "Don't worry so much over your dreams, Dany. I doubt they're prophetic like Daenys Targaryen's."

"Daenys?" She had never heard that name before. Viserys smiled indulgently, his hand squeezing hers tenderly.

"She was called Daenys the Dreamer, the daughter of Aenar Targaryen. It's because of her that we're alive today. She saw the Doom of Valyria in her dreams while still a maiden; this pushed her father to move their family to Dragonstone. Twelve years later the Doom came, shattering the Freehold and wiping out all the Valyrians and their dragons. But the Targaryens stayed safe on Dragonstone and were the sole Dragonlords after the Doom."

"So what if she wasn't the only Targaryen with such dreams?" Daenerys faltered, not wanting to displease him. "What if my dreams are telling me something that we ought to know, Viserys? What if—"

"Enough, Daenerys," her brother said firmly before he stood up, letting go of her hand. "You shouldn't dwell on your dreams in this manner; it's isn't healthy or appropriate." His brows knit together as he considered her for a moment. "However, should we ever find two such dragons or even dragon eggs, one black and one red, I will be sure to start believing in your dreams. Until then, keep your wits about you and stop pondering over such silliness. The only truth your dream gave you was that we must go to Westeros. But we can't do that without an army, something which we clearly lack at present time."

"I'm sorry, Viserys," Dany said meekly, suddenly realizing that she might have placed too much importance on the dream. "It was only a dream."


	12. The Madmen and the Stranger

"Tregar Ormollen is a dear friend to me, and a merchant prince same as I," Saldan told Viserys after Dany had already climbed into the carriage. The little belongings they owned had been packed in a simple wooden chest which had already been loaded onto the carriage by Saldan's slaves. "He has developed quite a liking for Westerosi exiles," the man japed, his dark mustache twitching in a smirk. "When you reach him, hand him this and he will know of the purpose of your journey as well as regard and respect my desire to help you." The prince handed Viserys a letter sealed in deep blue wax, smiling encouragingly. "He will help the two of you, no doubt about it. He and I are indebted to one another from years of favoring each other in matters such as this one."

_And if he doesn't help us? _Viserys wondered, hoping his pessimistic view on things was merely a mistake. He gave Saldan a smile and the man reciprocated, giving him a small bow. "Farewell young prince, and may your journey bring you safely home to your Seven Kingdoms."

"Thank you," Viserys said, tilting his head towards the merchant prince. "When I come into my crown, I shall not forget your friendship, Saldan Rovlenz."

Daenerys was wearing her best today, and Viserys studied her sourly as the horses and carriage took them South across Lys, in the direction of the Summer Sea and the other wealthiest part of the city. Her gown was a deep violet silk decorated with dark, exotic pearls from the Summer Islands, and it made her eyes seem even brighter and more beautiful than usual. It had been a parting gift from Saldan along with her matching pearl slippers; both Targaryens had received a little something before their departure. Viserys had gained a new pair of breeches, boots, a belt, a matching tunic and cloak, along with Saldan's half-hearted last favor.

The older man had kept to his word and done one last service for the young prince, helping him in something which Viserys had attempted for months yet had failed in; Saldan had found a contact for them in Volantis that would house them for at least two years. The price, however, would be his mother's crown. Viserys had been considering selling it for almost a year, but recently there hadn't been any need to since his deal with Saldan had turned out to be so successful. _Not successful enough, however_, Viserys thought bitterly. The merchant prince would not even consider allowing them more time in his manse for fear of word travelling across the Narrow Sea; his wine trading business might suffer, the man had said, and his very life might even be at risk.

"Are we nearly there?" Daenerys' small, pained voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and when he looked at her, his breath caught in his throat. The movement of the wheeled, enclosed cart on the uneven terrain had made her pale terribly, her golden skin having taken on a sickly, translucent yellow sheen. He leaned over and rapped on the wood above her head since she was sitting back to back with Saldan's carriage slave, and ordered him to stop immediately, his pulse racing too fast for his liking.

The prince barely had time to push open the carriage door; Daenerys flew out of the tight space in less than a heartbeat and then he heard terrible, disgusting noises as she heaved and gagged and gasped desperately outside the cart. Viserys decided she might need help; it was needlessly hot, and after all, he didn't really want the child passing out in the middle of a darkening, dusty street. He stepped out and upon noticing her small body shaking, reached out and twisted her silvery hair in one hand, tenderly pulling it away from her face. By the time Viserys was taking his next breath Dany was already bending over and retching violently, tremors running through her, almost as if his touch had given her the sudden courage to dispense of her stomach's contents. He gripped the top of her arm when she was done, letting go of her hair and turning her around slowly, wiping her mouth on a small cloth he had retrieved from his pocket before throwing it aside, not caring where it would land. He suddenly noticed how deathly quiet the street was, and then, _Oh fuck__, we need to get out of here _now_._

Before he could usher her into the carriage, however, a cruel laugh exploded behind him, making the hairs on the back of Viserys' neck stand. He pushed Dany inside hastily, turning around to face the danger whilst calling to the carriage slave for help. But there was no answer. He had barely any time to realize there were three massive figures in front of him before he turned and his eyes found a dead, bloodied corpse sitting where only moments before a live, talking man had tended to their two horses, leading them down busy Lyseni streets. The blood froze inside of him as he realized these people wanted to rob and most likely kill them, so he turned back to his assailants, determined to make sure him and Daenerys got out of the situation alive. Three intimidating men stood a few paces away from him, the tallest of them leering obscenely while the third, barely as tall as Viserys himself, only smirked at him cruelly while dragging his finger along the edge of an _arakh_.

"What brings you to our beautiful, free city, rich foreigner?" asked the tallest and fairest of the three, his light golden curls and purplish-blue eyes letting Viserys know that he was of old Lyseni blood, possibly even descended from some Targaryen bastard at one point or another. Viserys decided to take advantage of that possibility, and ignoring the other two men, addressed only this one.

"I am Daemon, of the house Velaryon of Westeros; I carry no riches but merely tragic tales. I am only here to visit a distant relative and bring news of a deceased loved one," Viserys lied expertly, his face soft and truthful. "I brought my younger sister Daena back to the homeland of our grandmother so that we might understand who she was a bit better. Please, we _really_ must be getting on our way now, sers."

"Don't _ser _me, lad," the shortest chuckled, now stepping closer and making Viserys' heart skip a beat. The light of the moon shined on the man's pale, closely shaved face; it illuminated scars old and new all over the skin of his bare chest and arms, yet those on his face still attracted the most attention. On one side especially, the scars were such terrible, twisted things, like silver and pink branches of a tree that was growing out of the man's cheek. The trunk of the tree was the worst; a thick, deep, horrid scar that ran from the top of his cheek and down the side of his face, disappearing from his chin and continuing down his neck and chest. A regular man might have died from such a wound, Viserys thought with sudden despair, registering that the dangerous man had just taken another step closer. "Who you really are is not a mystery to anyone but you," this third man said darkly with a deeply disturbing half-smile.

His mind was too slow to grasp it fully, that this was truly happening—Viserys' worst nightmares were suddenly unfolding before his eyes and he was completely powerless to stop them. But he had to do _something._ To protect his sister.

_Dany_, his mind suddenly gasped at him, and then he took two steps back, blocking the carriage entry from the cruel-looking madmen.

"Take all the money you want," he said tightly, "all of it. _Everything _we own is yours. Our jewelry is yours. This carriage is yours. My—"

"We don't want the carriage, boy," the second man finally piped up, a darkness Viserys thought he recognized brewing in his shrewd, dark brown eyes. "We want the gold, yes, but we want the horse and the girl as well." Viserys nearly fainted when the mad man paused for a moment before adding, "In fact, I think we want you as well, boy. I haven't had ma'self a good little brotherly-sisterly bedroom chat in _ages_," he boomed, breaking into a harsh laugh, the other two bastards joining in heartily. In a few quick steps he had moved so close to him that Viserys could smell him and almost _taste_ him, the back of his throat constricting and making him gag. The second man smelled like vomit, heavy wine and _blood_—Viserys could smell it everywhere, and suddenly it got him shaking like a leaf against his will—then a large, hard hand grasped him intimately through the front of his thin breeches, and he whimpered as he stared up into eyes so dark and deadly that he nearly let go and wet himself in the process.

But he didn't let go of his piss—Viserys was to be a king someday! He shivered, he squirmed, and he shook while the man squeezed him none-too-tenderly, but Viserys did not belittle himself or bring shame upon his family name. If his life would be taken tonight, or any of the nights to come when these savages tired of using him and Dany, he would die knowing that he had done everything in his power to restore the Targaryen dynasty, and then—

_Which of the Seven Hells might I descend into after all of this is said and done, _was his last coherent albeit ridiculous thought before he heard angry, strangled screams and saw crimson drops flying everywhere, a stinging, heavy pain piercing the side of his head. The ground rushed up to meet him and a small, morbidly ravaged part of Viserys welcomed the pool of black that enveloped him, certain he was falling into the arms of the Stranger at last.


	13. Come Back to Me

Fear held her in place more than anything; Daenerys wanted to go out there and stand by her brother, face their attackers together rather than cower away in the back of the carriage like a craven. But she knew better than to do that; the three men looked mean and harsh, even the smiling, comely one with golden hair.

She peered at the unfolding scene from behind her brother, her heart in her throat as she held her middle, feeling even sicker than before yet knowing there was nothing left inside of her to dispose of. When Viserys' back pressed against the opening of the carriage door and the man advanced on him, coming closer, Dany scrambled her mind, desperate to find a weapon or something to hit him with, _anything_. She heard the awful things the men said and knew they weren't interested in merely robbing them; they planned on abducting them, and her frenzied mind told her that was certainly far from good.

The bile had left a ghastly, bitter taste in her mouth, and Dany thought she might retch or possibly faint when the man stepped so close to Viserys that she could smell the wine wafting off his breath even from where she was sitting inside. Her brother's whimpers made the small, pale hairs on her arms and legs stand up, her teeth clamping together slightly as she tensed and willed her body to pause its shaking. There was another smell there, beneath the reek of his sweat and drink; a horrible, metallic smell. It smelled like _death_ and it smelled like blood and Dany was suddenly breathing in fast, short gasps as the man touched Viserys in a way that made her sibling visibly shake. Then the sound of screams drowned out all other thought and the next thing Dany knew, Viserys had fallen out of sight, and the vast amount of moonlight shining in through the opening rendered her momentarily frozen. Mere moments passed before she regained her composure and gasped herself into consciousness, realizing she had almost been drifting into a different plane of existence altogether, and falling into some sort of fainting spell. She needed to stay alert if they were to endure this.

Daenerys climbed out of the carriage slowly, peering to the street and seeing four bodies sprawled on the ground, crimson blood spattered everywhere that met the eye. Her stomach quivered violently when her eyes sought out and spotted Viserys, and she got down on her knees then, a sudden desperation taking hold of her as she pulled his head onto her lap. Some of his silver-golden hair had turned a deep scarlet, the left side of his skull looked tender and swollen, but Dany assured herself that he would heal, of course he would heal, he _had_ to. The princess had never seen him this hurt before, and a sudden dread filled her as she contemplated what she would do if he were to die.

_Die_, a weak, pained voiced choked at her, while another reminded her harshly that someone had taken out the other three men and it certainly hadn't been Viserys; she needed to move very quickly. She placed his head gently on the ground and stood up, rushing over to the carriage and opening the chest, reaching in and retrieving her cloak. She covered her brother in it for lack of anything better to do since she couldn't possibly give away its secret to whoever might be watching or listening.

"Please," she called out to the darkness of the street, shivers moving her small shoulders as she cradled her brother's bloodied head on her lap. "Take anything. Take _everything_ you want, just leave us with our lives." Her voice didn't sound nearly as high-pitched and desperate as Viserys's had when he had begged for his own life the previous year. Yet the fear and alarm only kept growing inside of Daenerys when there was no answer. She glanced back down at her brother, pressing her finger below his nose to see if he was still breathing. "Please, _please_," she whispered brokenly, knowing he couldn't hear her. "Please come back to me." He _was_ breathing, though very shallowly; she could detect a tiny bit of movement in his broad chest. When _had_ his chest become so broad, she suddenly wondered. He was a man grown now, and Daenerys was only a child—how was she to defend him and make sure they were in good hands when she couldn't even take care of herself?

Then a voice broke the silence, a cool, foreign accent coating the person's tongue. "A thank you is in order, I believe." A tall, slender figure materialized itself from the darkness, and Dany's eyes traveled over his dark, hooded cloak; the only visible thing inside of it was his onyx colored armor, one hand clasped around a bow, the other holding an arrow against it. She realized now, as she gazed at the three bodies lying next to her, that two of them were covered in black tipped arrows like the one he was holding. Yet one of them, the one who had come closest to Viserys and touched him, had a dagger buried in his neck. So which one had hurt Viserys? Her eyes fastened upon a small mace sitting not far from her, a few of the spikes covered in blood which she was convinced was her brother's. One of the men must have thrown it when they realized they were being attacked, but why attack Viserys and not the hooded man currently making his way towards them?

When he reached them he pulled his hood back, and Daenerys nervously gripped the cloak she had lain upon Viserys. She noticed the stranger's eyes were a navy blue so dark they were nearly black as the night sky above them. There was nothing formidable about his features, but she thought he might have been handsome at one time before he had shaved off his eyebrows and hair.

"Well?" he said at last, his gaze intense as his mouth pulled to the side in a small smirk.

"Thank you, ser," she said apprehensively. "Thank you for our lives. However I can repay you, merely tell me; anything we have and can give is yours to take."

"Oh, I'm no ser, girly," he chuckled darkly, and then walked over to the man with a dagger sticking out of his throat, pulling it out sharply and causing more blood to pool out. "And ya shouldn't be thanking me just yet, either." He wiped it on the robber's vest and straightened himself up, slipping it into a leather sheath on his belt. Dany didn't know what else to say so she kept quiet while the man relieved the corpses of some of their weapons, all of their money, and even pulled off one's nice-looking pair of boots. The stranger eyed her appreciatively as he tucked everything away in his satchel, before breaking into a wide smile that didn't quite reach his unsettling eyes.

"So," he said slowly. "What's in the wooden chest? My payment, I hope." His amused gaze traveled to the carriage behind her, and Dany shook her head, acutely aware those belongings were all that they had in the world.

"Clothing and books." She paused, her mind working at a dizzying rate. "Some trinkets and gifts that are far more valuable than everything else in the chest put together; _those _you can have, ser. Take them but leave us with our clothes and our lives, it is all we have left. Please," she added, not wanting to sound arrogant as her brother might in such a situation.

"I'm not here to rob you," he chuckled, but he stepped closer and leaned over her, opening the trunk. "I'll take you and your brother to a…an _acquaintance_. He'll fix him up nicely and then I'll be on my way with whatever payment you see fit for my services." He slammed the chest closed and she jumped, startled, before she nodded shakily and returned her gaze to Viserys. He was still unconscious; when she pressed her hand against his neck she noted with some fright that his skin was cool to the touch.

"Thank you, ser. You are very kind to help us."

The stranger gave her a queer look, his eyes dancing dangerously as he leaned down and grabbed a hold of Viserys, lifting him up almost effortlessly and slinging him over his shoulder. The cloak she had placed on him had fallen, and Dany picked it up nonchalantly, making sure not to give away its importance.

"Rescuing children in distress is my specialty," he jested, stepping into the carriage and laying Viserys down. He came back out and bowed to her, motioning towards the carriage. "My _lady_," he said softly, and Daenerys gave him a hesitant smile before climbing inside, placing the cloak on Viserys once more. She heard the stranger push the dead slave off the seat and then the sound of a whip against horses' flesh followed, the wheels turning and taking them away from the bodies, from the blood, from the _arakh_ which she couldn't surmise why the man hadn't taken.

And as Dany sat down to cradle Viserys' head in her lap once again, tears swam in her eyes, blurring her vision; she wondered with a heavy heart what would become of her if her last family member were to never wake up again. She suddenly remembered the pale face's warnings and how he hadn't once mentioned her brother, yet she pushed these thoughts back, certain she would go insane if she dwelled on such negativity. So she held him close, taking comfort in the slow rise and fall of his chest, hoping with all her being that he would wake up soon and admonish her for fretting over him like such a baby.

"Come back to me, Viserys," she whispered, chanting it over and over again, her tears spilling over her face and dampening the silk of her dress.


	14. Of Sickness and Sailing

"You've been sick for _days_. Are you sure you're not going to die?" the dragon prince snapped sarcastically, his pulse spiking. Daenerys' eyes were red and swollen, her cheeks flushed and covered in tears. There was a small bit of vomit on her chin, and Viserys wanted to choke the life out of her for an insurmountable amount of reasons.

"I'm—" she tried and stopped short, her eyes widening as she leaned over to empty the contents of her stomach for the fifth time that day. It was only late afternoon and his sister had already put him in such a maddening mood that Viserys suddenly wanted her completely out of his sight.

"I'll leave you to your sickness then," he said sulkily, turning away and standing up.

Before he could leave he heard a gargled, half cry followed by a sputter and then…_silence_. He turned and saw that Daenerys was choking, her face turning an unflattering bruised color as she waved her small hands desperately. Viserys growled in annoyance and grabbed her by the arm, picking her up and facing her the other way as he brought her shorter, slighter body to his chest. He pressed his hands into the flesh under her ribcage and squeezed hard. The girl suddenly coughed loudly and then became very sick. Viserys let go of her in deep disgust, standing back as she fell to her knees, her body violently quaking with her horrible sickness.

"Please—" Her voice was so raw and broken; the depth of it made her sound older than she really was, and Viserys just wanted to _hurt_ her in a million different ways. "Please stay," she gasped, grabbing a small cloth to wipe her sullied mouth and chin.

"Perhaps if you washed your mouth I'd consider tucking you in for an afternoon nap," he said tersely. "Of course you'll have to face away from me so I don't smell your _disgusting _breath."

The prince emptied the chamber pot filled with his sister's puke out into the cool, dark waters of the Narrow Sea, trying not to look anyone on deck in the eyes, fearing he'd find pity there…or something else entirely. Viserys found that many people asked him for a price upon glancing his way and putting together the sad situation of his life; they mistook him and considered there might be a price for his body, a price for his sister, even a price for his _offspring_.

The thought drove him to madness. He was assaulted by memories of his father's teachings and how the best way was the old way; _Fire and Blood_ were their words as well as their lives. Viserys would one day have to marry his sister, as was the Targaryen tradition. He rationalized to himself that perhaps it diminished his chances of marrying into and forming an alliance with one of the strongest houses of Westeros, but then he told himself he had no other choice. The job of keeping the bloodline pure had fallen to Viserys now, and after all, he and his sister were the sole survivors of their line. If he didn't marry her and continue it, what would happen? Aegon's and his sister-wives' legacy could be lost forever.

When he got back inside their room below deck, Daenerys was waiting on the bed, her legs dangling off the edge of it, swaying to the rhythm of the ship's movement. Her eyes were closed and for a second Viserys thought she might be sleeping, but when she felt his weight on the bed those violet eyes opened to smile at him. His heart wept in his chest at her display of tenderness, and the prince felt the burn of a thousand regrets lodging in his throat, tickling wetly behind his eyes. The poor, sick girl had gone as far as cleaning her vomit off the floor; her mouth no longer smelled when his face came close to hers, and she had even brushed her hair and changed her sweat-drenched gown.

"I tried washing…I cleaned my mouth as well. I'm not sure if my breath still smells but I'll turn around if you like," she whispered in a scratchy voice.

Viserys lay down next to her, kicking off his boots and turning to pull her against him. Daenerys breathed deeply against his chest, her fingers grabbing at the material of his dark tunic, her eyes shutting tightly.

"Don't be ridiculous," his lips brushed against her forehead. "You smell like wildflowers," he teased, his mood becoming lighter by the moment. When Dany was in his arms, Viserys found he couldn't even try and remain upset with his sister.

When she had first started vomiting every few hours nearly three weeks into their voyage, Viserys had been taken by utter surprise. Targaryens didn't fall ill—theirs was the blood of the dragon, and the blood of old Valyria. A true dragon was never sick; the prince couldn't remember a day in his life that he had ever been sick.

"How much longer until we reach Braavos?"

"I'll ask the captain when I see him next," he replied, kissing her forehead lightly. The answer seemed to please her; she smiled and snuggled in closer to his chest and Viserys wished he could lay there and hold her forever.

The blow he had received to the head had left him debilitated for near a fortnight. The stranger who had rescued him and Dany from the robbers was only in it for the rewards; the man had tricked his sister into giving him far more expensive trinkets than he deserved, gifts that Viserys would rather not have parted with, and far too many at that. Had he woken up only a few days earlier than he had, the outcome of the situation would have been very different.

Gifts had not been enough for the man; two weeks into their stay at Rostifer's home, the stranger had made off into the night with all of their remaining silver and gold. Rostifer had once been a Maester in Westeros, but the Citadel had stripped him of his Maester's chains years before the War of the Usurper. Rostifer himself hadn't been able to reveal the stranger's name; he had simply owed the enigmatic man a favor and agreed to heal Viserys and house them until he got better.

Rostifer had revealed all this to Daenerys whilst Viserys still lay comatose; he hadn't gone too far in his stories, simply telling the princess that the other Maesters in Westeros had felt that his techniques were a tad "unnatural" and at times "far too excessive". Whatever that meant, Viserys couldn't really guess; his knowledge of the Maesters and their guild was very limited. The old man had saved his life and taken nothing from them in return. The prince would remember his good service as he had a mind to reinstate Rostifer as Maester and house him in King's Landing once he returned to his homeland and took what was his.

It had taken them weeks to find a ship captain who would take them on solely by word of recompense and nothing more. They had no riches to speak of at this point, save for his mother's crown which Viserys had sown into Dany's cloak in case they were cheated by anyone. Although not very religious by nature, he had thanked the Old Gods and the New for his sister's quick thinking and acting; he was certain that if the stranger had had any inkling to what was hidden in her cloak, he would have taken that as well, and truly left them for dead.

Yet now Viserys was faced with a greater dilemma: finding a way to sell the crown without drawing attention to himself and his sister's true identities. The decision to sail to Braavos had been made the day he woke up from his overly-long sleep; the city state in question had not only been their home years before when Ser Darry lived, but it was the safest place to strike a mutually beneficial deal without too many eyes and ears to ruin it all or place them in peril.

Had the mysterious, hairless stranger been more benevolent towards him and his sister, they could be sailing towards Volantis at that very moment, as was their original plan. Now Viserys would have to make due with what they had left, which was Rhaella's golden crown. Perhaps someone in Braavos would remember them; a friend of Ser Willem's perhaps? But no—Viserys chastised himself mentally—there was no one they could trust, or not entirely in any case. The young man would have to be very astute indeed if they were to continue surviving. They had been keeping hidden so well for years, and most of the time they had lived better than one might expect two royal orphans to live. If there was one thing that Viserys was sure of, it was that they would succeed in their quest, yet if and _only_ if they were smart about the relationships they forged.

The Seven Kingdoms had once been a divided land where hundreds of petty kingdoms rose and fell for centuries on end before Aegon, Rhaenys and Visenya had united them into one perfect monarchial rule. Viserys was reminded of dragons and how the strong, magnificent creatures had made all the difference in the War of Conquest. Where in the Seven Hells was he going to find _dragons_? They had been dead for far longer than he'd been alive. His nostrils flared, and he was vaguely reminded of where he lay and what he was doing when Dany shifted against him in her sleep and sighed softly.

He frowned as he lightly ran his hand through her hair, his fingers slipping through the silver tresses as if they were the purest, most expensive of silks. Viserys had come to resent her in her everlasting innocence and childish ideas; she wasn't prepared for a harsher life, and as his arm tightened around her slightly—_protectively_ he realized with some disdain—the young man knew he would have to make sure his greatest treasure would never be taken from him, no matter what.

That night, Viserys dreamt of his little sister. Yet in his dream, she wasn't so little anymore.

The curves Dany pressed into him spoke of womanhood and deceit, and the way she smirked at him told the prince he no longer was the one in control. She allowed his hands to run over her, his fingers sinking so hard into her flesh he was surprised she didn't cry out in pain. Instead she laughed at him, her teeth gleaming beneath rosy lips, her eyes a dark entrancing shade as she pulled him against her even harder, appearing to take great pleasure in their perversions.

Just before his lips pressed against hers, she disappeared from his grasp as if magically, slipping away into the dark recesses of his mind, a boyish fantasy lost forever. A pleaded whisper lingered in the colorless desolation, her words floating back to him as if fighting to escape past oceans of denial.

When Viserys woke the next morning, he was pressed against his sister's backside and he was horribly, devastatingly_ hard_. Alarmed, repulsed and thoroughly disconcerted, he removed himself from the bed and tried to remember what he had been dreaming of. He found he couldn't remember, yet a mysterious phrase rang through his mind again and again: "Come back to me."


	15. Gone

They didn't have any time to spare looking for the house with the red door, and although it had been the only place Dany had ever felt like _home_, she decided it would be best not to mention any of this to Viserys. Her feelings weren't, after all, at the forefront of his mind.

They had been staying at a roadside inn so close to the water that Dany could smell the sea and taste the salt in the air around them. Her brother was out trying to strike bargains with outrageously rich acquaintances while she brooded and studied her High Valyrian in their room. She knew the potential deal concerned their mother's crown, but she didn't let her mind dwell on the melancholy and guilt this created within her.

A small part of Daenerys sympathized with her brother when she looked into his eyes and saw fury, scorn or blame directed at her. If she hadn't been so sick that night in the carriage, they would never have had to stop in that dank, dark Lyseni street. The robbers would never have even seen them, and at this moment they would probably be eating exotic dishes off of precious silverware and drinking sweet, southern nectars out of polished goblets in the manse of Saldan's friend.

Instead they had been residing in what was known as the Titan's Keeper, a Braavosi inn made popular for its brilliant window views of the Titan and its propensity for allowing customers to stay for weeks or even months at a time. They had already been in Braavos for nine days and staying at the inn for four; the captain of the Golden Mermaid had kept them close the first few days, demanding his rightful payment for the long voyage. Viserys had finally convinced the man to let them be, arguing that he couldn't possibly find a way to barter his crown for gold if they weren't allowed off the ship. The captain had agreed, promising to check in on them upon returning from his next trip.

The man had at first wanted to keep Daenerys with him as leverage in order to make sure that they didn't simply leave before his return, cheating him out of his fair payment. Viserys had argued that her schooling was too important to pause and there was no one on the ship who could possibly instruct her in anything other than fishing. Instead of taking insult, the man had laughed in Viserys' face, commenting that indeed he knew nothing of High Valyrian and even less of proper lady's etiquette. He had also sourly added that if Viserys was wont to break their deal he should know he wasn't bargaining with just his life but his sister's as well.

The possible threat of death didn't bother Dany as much as it should have; she was certain her brother would find someone to trade with soon enough. What bothered her most was that the man had actually dared say something of the sort in the first place. She reminded herself that to the world, however, they were both just a pair of orphans with not a single drop of royal blood inside them. And it was for their own good that the façade would have to continue in this fashion, else they might find themselves in the midst of a very dangerous situation.

"It's gone."

Daenerys hadn't even heard him come in. She turned in her seat, noticing there was a strange, new kind of madness brewing in her brother's pale lilac eyes. It was unlike any other kind of madness she had ever seen.

"The crown? You sold it?" she asked softly, not liking the way Viserys was looking at her. When he threw the large, velvet pouch at her feet, Dany was ready to be happy and celebrate with him.

"It's _gone._" There was no mistaking the madness now, and she suddenly thought that celebration was actually the farthest thing from his mind. As he stared deeply into her eyes, she recognized more than the insanity; it was a blazing, red hot anger, a rage which infused a deep-seated, horrible fear within her. _He's going to say it was my fault_. She had been dreading this moment for many weeks, but now that it was finally upon her the girl felt very unprepared, confused and terrified.

"Viserys?" she tried.

"Yes," he said slowly, his eyes scorching her and pinning her to her seat.

"How much did you receive? For the crown, I mean—"

"If you say the word _crown_ one more time," he snapped suddenly. Dany pursed her lips as she watched him come to the table and look over what she had been writing. Now that she had given the matter a little more thought, she suddenly felt like it _hadn't_ been her fault, not entirely anyway.

Her brother was a man over twice her age yet twice as useless, she sometimes thought. He was calculating and intelligent, oh yes, and he had been taking care of her for so long that she couldn't imagine a daily routine without him. Yet he was blinded by his assumptions, delusional in all things where her or his so-called kingdom were concerned, and downright arrogant, proud and completely insensitive to those around him. On top of all these flaws, Viserys was also terrible at sword fighting, and in her opinion, terrible at much of what he tried to do. There was absolutely no way she was going to keep her mouth shut if he accused her of something.

"You've got this all wrong," he suddenly sighed, and leaned over the desk, grabbing the quill and dipping it in ink. He crossed out words and rewrote them, his jaw clenching in his cheek.

"How're you going to be queen of Westeros one day if you can't even write something this simple in High Valyrian?"

She didn't really know how to answer his question. She was only doing this bad in her lessons because he made her read the notes to herself half the time while he would be out and about tending to his _adult_ responsibilities.

"You haven't had a one on one lesson with me in _ages_," she said, not being able to stop herself. His pale eyes found her and narrowed dangerously.

"It's been only a week," he reasoned.

"_No_," she muttered, "the last lesson was a week before we reached Braavos, Viserys."

"Are you talking back to me?" he snarled, grabbing her by the shoulder and squeezing it. It wasn't a painful squeeze, but rather a warning. Perhaps Dany had been mistaken in regards to the type of madness brewing behind those eyes; he suddenly seemed very much at a loss of what to say now, his eyes blank and unfocused as his grip loosened. He dropped his hand and looked down, his eyes glistening.

"And to think…All those years," he whispered, his eyes finding hers again. "All those years of keeping it safe, keeping it _hidden_, simply _knowing _that you would wear it one day…" He paused, his face darkening dangerously. "Gone. It's all _gone_."

And then he was upon her.


	16. Of Violet Eyes and Violence

"They call me the Beggar King behind my back," Viserys said harshly, his fist tightening. "I am King of all Seven Kingdoms of Westeros and they dare treat me in this fashion, these—these _peasants_."

Daenerys gave him an odd look before a deep, unexpected sadness settled itself upon her angelic features.

"They know nothing then, Viserys." She stared deeply into his eyes, and the Targaryen prince felt that although his sister was half his age, she understood him truly. How could she not? They were both being denied their rightful crowns. Before he could agree, she continued. "We should think about this tomorrow, when we have food in our bellies. Perhaps our minds shall be clearer."

"Have you lost your head?" His nose flared angrily. "You don't tell a king what he should and should not do." His sibling's brows knit together at that.

"I was merely trying to—"

"Make me feel better, you stupid _child_?" He didn't even know why he told her of his ordeals. She was a child of nine and as such couldn't possibly comprehend the acute insult he had felt at hearing of his new moniker.

"Yes," she snapped, taking him by surprise. She hadn't talked to him in that tone since before her last beating. "And perhaps if you collected yourself and thought about these things in a better mood, you would realize I am only trying to help."

"_Help_? How could you possibly help?" Viserys' chuckle was low and void of humor. "You're a child. And an incorrigible, ignorant one at best. How could you possibly help our situation?" He narrowed his eyes, studying her petite form before him. The pallet they shared was small, so small that Dany had either curled above his head, below his feet or within his arms for the past few days in order to keep warm at night. They had been traveling South and then East, towards the Free City of Norvos. There, Viserys thought they might be able to secure safe housing for a few months at the very least.

"I am sorry," Daenerys said finally, turning her gaze away from him.

Viserys didn't reply; there was nothing more to say. To say something more was to admit defeat, and that was certainly not something the young man was willing to do. His sister was well aware of their situation, as she had been one of the main causes behind it. Viserys still remembered very well the atrocities he had committed on the day of selling his mother's crown.

He had returned to the Titan's Keeper that night at a loss of what to do. The physical act itself of selling the crown had rendered him incapable of examining the situation in greater detail; had made his mind sluggish and his heart race in a panic he hadn't thought was possble. A different side of him had taken over, a side relying on pure instinct which ignored any and all socially imposed boundaries.

The bruises he left on his sister's body haunted him for weeks after. Days later when he bathed her, his fingers ran across the purpling bruises on her ribs, and when he brushed her hair he noticed round, darkened spots marring the juncture between her neck and shoulder; those he couldn't even remember, in his horrible rage, how he had given her. Once when he showed her how to tie on a new pair of sandals, his fingers had brushed over a particular mark on her ankle that made her whimper softly, a sound that still echoed within memory and made him dread his very existence.

The night of the beating he had rushed out of the inn immediately after, not being able to look Daenerys in the face. He feared that if he looked into her eyes and saw what he knew would be hatred, it would finish him for good; burning and tearing away at the last shred of humanity that he had been clinging onto for years.

_The prince left in search of something, yet he couldn't quite understand what it was until he found it. The pleasure house before him sported a red and black door patterned in diamond shapes, the colors of his house, and the omen was enough to make the man walk inside and chance a glance over the wenches scattered across the hall. They were dining at tables and on large, soft pillows, feeding princes and nobles grapes from their dainty hands, the brilliant, exotic colors of their clothing calling to the part within him that had only barely awakened. _

_Viserys spotted a head of silver and gold and his breath caught in his throat. She was a girl of average height and build, with ample breasts and waist length curls, her eyes a laughing, warm violet that could easily compete with Dany's. _

_A feeling of confusion settled deep within him, yet another feeling which he knew only too well soon overpowered that one; _lust_. If there was one thing Viserys needed right now, it was an outlet for his bloodlust, his desires, and his horrible, ever-building fury. This girl would be his outlet, and although the man had never paid for a whore in his life, he thought he might make an exception for one who reminded him so much of his sister. What he hadn't been able to do to her he would certainly do to this base-born girl, Viserys thought with dark enjoyment. _

_The night between the two started out in wild, fevered passion, their bodies a tangle of sweaty limbs against dark sheets in one of the upstairs rooms, and Viserys felt so alive that for a short while he forgot of his devious plans. When Rhaenyra complimented him on his love-making abilities a couple of hours into their time together, Viserys asked her what she had enjoyed so much about it. The girl, who was older than him by two years, told of how she had lain with noble and peasant alike, priest and murderer, war hero and coward. She had examined the hearts and souls of men, not merely their bodies, and she felt connected to the young man in a way she couldn't explain herself. Yet Viserys thought he knew the reason behind the connection..._

_The young man had not been drinking that night, unlike her, so getting information from the woman was quite possibly the simplest thing he had ever done. The name Rhaenyra had sounded Valyrian from the moment he had heard it, and Viserys was sure this was no coincidence; the colors of her hair and eyes spoke without a need for words. _

_"My mother was the bastard child of an exiled Westerosi prince. Aerion Brightflame, they called him. He was part of the Second Sons when he took my gran for a quick toss and tumble." She laughed then, her voice so musical and beautiful that Viserys was suddenly a bit apprehensive about taking his woes out on her. She wasn't even a real Targaryen, but blood was blood, and they shared common ancestry. The blood of their great-grandfather, King Maekar I, ran through both of their veins. The realization made him hold back, momentarily entranced with her beauty and simplicity. _

_"Now that you know who _I_ am, why don't you tell me where you get that hair?" Rhaenyra's gaze was playful, but Viserys realized she was no fool. "Don't tell me you're descended from some Targaryen bastard yourself," she teased. _

_"No, no bastard," he said coolly. His eyes traveled down over her naked body and he climbed on top of her then, stunning her into silence. "But we share the same ancestors, yes." _

_Her eyes widened in slight fear at his tone, and the action reminded him so much of Daenerys that he growled, his lips crashing into hers and his hand finding the soft spot between her legs. The wetness he felt there empowered him further, and he twisted her around easily, pulling her rump against his pelvis as his teeth found the soft flesh of her neck. _

_Viserys fucked the girl brutally past that point, not caring about her comfort or giving any thought to how she felt about it emotionally, if she felt anything at all. He pounded his frustrations into her, forcing her to take all of the anger he had felt, all of the sadness and sickness and depravity that he wanted to be rid of once and for all. When he was done, the body shaking and gasping for breath beneath him was covered in angry, red welts that seemed to glow beneath his fingers. _

_"What a waste of dragon's blood," Viserys hissed hotly into her ear, pressing into the whore one last time, giving her not a moment of respite. _

_By the end of his visit, Rhaenyra had been reduced to pitiful mewls and begging, her face wet with tears as Viserys thrust between her open lips, something he had daydreamed many a time of doing to his sister when she came of age. _

_When Viserys returned to the inn that night, the tiny, sleeping form of his sister softened his demeanor and made a small amount of remorse bud inside of him. He had beaten her earlier, but he had left before he could take it too far; his search had led him by luck to a place where he found someone who not only reminded him of Dany, but who could take all the beating he had desired to apply to his sister. As well as other things his sister wasn't quite ready for, his guilty mind concluded as his eyes swept over her slight body. _

_One day, his mind teased him darkly. One day he would take her and make her his as she had always been meant to be. Until that day, Viserys would wait. _

It was natural for Targaryens to take their sisters, cousins or even nieces to bride, but the thought of doing so left him feeling slightly disturbed. He had been there every step of the way with Dany, remembered the way their mother's blood gleamed ruby red upon her skull when she came out, screaming and wailing like her life was ending rather than just beginning. He had kissed her scrapes and bruises, held her hand, comforted her, loved her and educated her in the ways of being a Targaryen princess as well as a lady. Yet he had also hit her, marring her porcelain skin with his own envy and rage, hated her and blamed her for taking away their mother, at times wanting nothing more than to leave her in the alley way of some random city and run far, far away. His sister was a burden to him as well as a blessing, and at times the prince wondered which role outweighed the other.

"I'm so tired." Her soft voice brought him back to the present time, the abandoned old shack they were in and the rough, hard pallet beneath them. "We should rest so we can rise early tomorrow. The sooner we are inside a city, the safer we'll be."

"Indeed," he murmured, his eyes resting on hers. For a girl her age, Viserys knew she understood enough of the world to have a strong sense of self-preservation. He had taught her that, at least, and their unfortunate experience with the mysterious stranger had been more of a life lesson than he could ever provide himself.

They had been on the road for well over a month now, never stopping more than a night or two in any certain spot. Yet when they had found the abandoned shack hidden away in a dense thatch of trees, they had stopped for a night, and then another, and another, growing a tad too comfortable for his liking. It was the fifth night tonight, and Viserys realized they would have to move onward tomorrow; he didn't know how far the river Noyne was from where they were, but the sooner they reached it, the better.

"Come," he said almost too gently for his taste, and Dany's eyes shone at this small display off affection as she crawled closer to him. She was always happier when they slept pressed together, protected within the circle of his arms and sharing the warmth of his body; Viserys realized it probably made her feel safe, despite the fact that they both knew how useless he was with a sword in his hand.

The night had grown cool yet pleasantly so. When she lay on her side facing away from him, the warmth spreading from her back through his chest was just enough to make him quickly succumb to dreams filled with dragons, revenge, and those violet eyes that haunted him every waking and sleeping moment of his life.


	17. Finding the Noyne

"We could have easily sailed to Lorath," her brother huffed behind her in annoyance, and Dany knew he was growing tired from carrying the heavy satchel packed with their belongings, the bright sun beating down on the two siblings with an intensity they hadn't felt since living in Lys. "The Lorathi are a secluded people. They take no part in the political affairs or conflicts of the rest of the cities."

She wanted to ask why they hadn't gone there then, but decided against it; angering him further would only provide her with unwanted bruises, and Daenerys had remained blemish free for the past few months.

"The river should be somewhere close by now," she said, trying to reassure herself more than him.

"Yes, well, you're not the one saddled with everything like a mule," he said in a grating tone. Dany knew that if she asked to help bear the burden he would refuse, insisting she was a child and he was a man as he had numerous times before. She wished he would just stop his constant complaining, although she fully understood his frustrations.

It took them two more days of travelling through hills both tall and small to reach the Noyne. The waters were so crystalline and appealing that Dany ached to strip off her clothing and submerge herself for hours on end. She looked to Viserys in hopes that he might have the same idea, and was disappointed to find him frowning.

"There's nothing here," he said quietly. "No village, no inn or boats to speak of, no way to get to Norvos unless we bloody _swim _there."

"Norvos is somewhat close to the mouth, I've read," she supplied, and he turned to her with a glare, but she ignored it. "If we keep to the river and continue walking, we might eventually find boats and people. If not, we'll still find Norvos at some point or another—"

"Please tell me something I didn't know before," her brother sighed in frustration, coming to a halt a few feet away from the river and gazing into the waters as if they had done him wrong.

"Forgive me," she said, coming to stand beside him and reaching up to squeeze his shoulder. His lilac eyes found hers, and the position of the sun in the sky turned his face into a gaunt, hard mask.

Viserys had lost some weight these past few months; they both had. Hunting small animals and fish, picking berries off bushes and fruit off trees hadn't been nearly enough to give them healthy sustenance, but it had kept them alive while on the road. Daenerys was eager to once again bathe at least twice a week, have regular meals, and focus more on her education which she had been neglecting as of late.

She felt drops of sweat trickling down her back beneath the material of her tunic as she stood there with him, and her eyes once again found the light, crystal blues of the Noyne; they were pulling her forth as if through some invisible spell. They hadn't bathed in weeks; there had been no small ponds through the hills they passed, and no lasting rainfalls to cool their heated bodies and wash off the accumulated grime. The few times it had rained it was heavy and fast, and they had only been able to gather enough water to keep them hydrated for the following few days.

As if reading her mind, Viserys dropped his satchel quite suddenly, a small smile playing on his thin lips.

"We may as well wash ourselves now that we've found water, sweet sister."

Daenerys grinned at him, something she hadn't been able to manage in many weeks, and her brother's teeth finally appeared through his own smile, the happiness she was certain they both felt spreading quickly and intensifying with every passing moment.

The water was much cooler than the blazing temperature of the late afternoon, and after scrubbing their bodies clean as best as they could, Dany lazily watched her brother as he washed his nearly elbow-length hair. He needed a trim, and badly. Hers was even longer and she would need help with it, so she waited patiently until he finished, giving him a tentative smile and touching her locks in silent invitation.

It was a routine they had gone through hundreds if not thousands of times before. The only difference was that unlike those other times, her brother was just as nude as her now, and a feeling she didn't quite understand took hold of her when she felt his fingers tugging against her locks and pressing into her scalp.

He hummed a light, unknown tune while he washed her, his fingers gentle and precise, and Dany had a feeling that Viserys was taking far too long on the present task when she looked to the sky and saw that its blues had began to darken. Lovely pinks and purples tinted the area where the sun had set only minutes before, the stark tendrils of bright light not quite disappearing behind one of the taller hills.

"If you keep moving your head," he warned, not needing to finish his sentence.

By the time he was done the sky was the deep blue of sapphires, stones so precious that Dany had only ever seen them worn by others, and the stars scattered across the giant canvas winked at her like long-lost friends. She studied the deep ridges that had formed in her fingers, and her skin felt swollen and tender when it pressed against itself as she closed her hand in a fist.

"We should get out before we're eaten by a sea serpent," Viserys taunted, finding his way to the shallow edge of the river and stepping out. Dany looked away, her cheeks burning at the sight of his manhood; it was swollen and slightly darker than the rest of him, nestled beneath a bush of silvery gold hair. Her reaction seemed to amuse him, however.

"You've never seen one, have you?" he called out to her, his tone mocking. Dany ignored him and pointedly turned away so he was left to stare at the back of her head. She decided to wait for him to be distracted in order to leave the water herself, feeling embarrassed and uncomfortable at this certain turn of events.

Viserys didn't watch her come out of the water, nor did he watch her dress in the clothes he had readied for her on top of a large rock; he was momentarily absent. The girl was grateful for this; she didn't think she could stand it if he offered some snide remark regarding her body. She had grown so skinny that the small amount of fat which had accumulated on top of her breast muscles was now completely gone. They hadn't been breasts after all, she decided, twisting her long hair to wring the water out. She was far too young, after all, but she had thought—had _hoped_, really—that it was a sign of her impending womanhood.

Judging by the way her brother was staring at her when she approached the small cookfire he had set up, she thought maybe it was for the best that they _hadn't_ been budding breasts. His eyes gleamed precariously in the firelight, the lilac smoldering and darker than usual.

"What kind of fish is that?" she inquired, sitting down across from him and breathing in the mouth-watering smell. He had dragged and set up two boulders facing each other across the fire, and Daenerys was suddenly reminded of why she loved him so much. The rolled up pallet they had taken from the shack had been useful enough for sleeping, but sitting down on it and eating wasn't nearly as comfortable as sitting up on something as tall and flat as a stool. Her boulder was smoother and flatter than his, she noticed. A slow smile formed on Dany's lips when she realized that despite her brother's insufferable moments and numerous flaws, he was always looking out for her.

"Looks like lamprey, but it's larger than the ones back home," Viserys said absentmindedly, staring into the fire. She suddenly wondered when he even had the time to catch it; probably while she was putting on clean clothes. The flames moved erratically, making the shadows on his face chase each other in a wild dance.

When they were done eating, Dany licked her fingers clean and Viserys tittered at her unladylike behavior. He led her to the edge of the water where they properly washed their hands clean before returning near the fire and setting down the pallet.

The embers were dying down by the time they were almost ready for sleep. Viserys was sitting on his knees behind her, brushing the knots out of her wavy locks, his fingers slightly rougher against the skin of her neck than they had been the previous year. Living in the wild had clearly taken its toll on them in more ways than one.

"You need a haircut," he commented as he finished. She giggled then, an odd airy sound in the darkness surrounding them, and turned to face him. Her outburst had clearly taken both of them by surprise as his eyebrows had lifted a considerable distance from their usual spot upon his thin face.

"Look who's talking." She tugged on a lock of his hair and he smirked.

"We'll do it when we arrive in Norvos," he said as if to settle the matter, his eyes dancing.

Viserys had quite the merry disposition tonight; Daenerys had been studying his mood swings since she was a small child yet she found she could never predict his better moods. They appeared as if by magic and disappeared again before she had the chance to fully enjoy them.

"Tell me a story," she urged.

"We must wake early in the morrow," he said. "We don't have—"

"Just a short one," she said hurriedly, her smile widening at his defeated expression.

"You're trying to trick me," he accused.

"Is it working?" she asked, moving closer so she was sitting right next to him. His mouth twitched as if he were fighting a smile.

"A short one," he allowed, and Dany grinned for the second time that day, wondering how her luck had changed so drastically with the appearance of the river.

"Many thousands of years ago—seven or perhaps eight—the numbers evade me at present time," Viserys cleared his voice then, "the Ghiscari Empire ruled over much of this continent. They had been doing so for quite a long while, having amassed a viciously strong military force and established the beginnings of what would become a bountiful slave trade. That slave trade still continues today in many of the Free Cities." Dany's brows furrowed, making him pause. "What is it?"

"I hate the idea of slaves. It's so savage," she said.

"That is a subject for another time I believe," he reprimanded, pursing his lips.

"Please, do go on," she said.

"These people came together to form the greatest civilization the world had ever known up until that point. They also had rich agricultural diversity, large cedar forests, and they mined copper from their many hills. Their power was so grand that none dared defy them." He paused dramatically, his eyes glowing.

"While the empire was still in its prime, a group of peaceful, sheep-herding people were assembling their own society across a body of water that separated them, called the Gulf of Grief." His lips playing in a half-smirk, he went on. "Upon the discovery of dragons in the Fourteen Fires by some of the more prominent families, their rise to power began; what was once a minor civilization became an empire of intricate beauty, culture and limitless power. That empire came to be known as the Valyrian Freehold."

"The Ghiscari must have been quite envious," Dany commented, making him chuckle darkly.

"Yes, they were—they waged war upon Valyria and tried to steal the dragons." His smile faltered. "The blood of the dragon prevented them from doing so; the magical hold our ancestral family and the other noble bloodlines of Valyria had on their dragons made the creatures bend to their will and listen to their every command." The look on his face was deadly now. "After the Valyrian Empire burnt down Old Ghis until nothing was left but charred corpses and burnt bricks, they sowed the land with salt and sulfur so that nothing would ever grow there again. That was five thousand years ago...The city is abandoned to this day."

"How do you know so much about all this?"

"Books, dearest sister. They are the keys to our understanding of the past, and as such, the future."

"How many royal families were there in the Freehold?"

"Forty families. They split the ruling powers according to status; that was determined by the wealth and amount of slaves a family owned."

Finding out that her ancestors had also indulged in such a savage practice made Dany slightly upset, but she decided to ignore it.

"Don't forget dragons," she teased, trying to keep things light despite her emotions."I'm sure the number of dragons a family possessed also had to do with how much power and influence they held."

"Clever girl." He smirked. "Valyria was their main city, the capital city. They built all the Free Cities too, you know, all except for Braavos."

"Who built Braavos?"

"So many questions," he mused. "But that is a story for another time I think. Perhaps we'll finish it once we arrive to Norvos, as a treat after the long journey, hm?"

Dany suddenly realized how dark it had gotten; her brother's face was nothing more than a shuddering mask of shadows, the fire having gone out before she could even notice. His eyes still reflected light she saw, from the moon and stars perhaps, and she found herself gazing upward at the vastness of the open, cloudless night sky.

She knew Viserys was still watching her; he was _always _watching her. His eyes looked almost black in the surrounding gloom and they were fastened upon her lips. Even with the darkness around them, Daenerys could expertly tell where his face was from the gleam atop his head which shone like spun gold and silver, as well as the tiny, faint lights reflecting within his eyes. When those lights moved up to rest on her own, she blushed, having been caught staring at her brother while _he_ was staring at her.

That night, Daenerys tried to fall asleep for hours, yet all to no avail. She tossed and twisted and turned until finally Viserys grabbed her and crushed her against his chest, mumbling something about moving too damn much. Minutes later, as the princess laid there in the confines of his arms, she felt him pressed tight and hard against the small of her back, and she let out a slow, shuddering breath. If Viserys noticed her discomfort he did not comment upon it; time seemed to pass very slowly, yet it did, and the prodding at her back soon subsided, then, completely vanished.

She told herself that it was because he had simply been having a dream of sorts…Dany herself dreamt of romantic fantasies and fanciful princes sweeping her off her feet, coming to steal her away from her brother, making her _truly _fall in love. But there were only soft kisses in her dreams, pecks on the cheek and the caress of a hand on hers; she didn't think she wanted to know what was going on in _Viserys'_ dreams to give him such an indiscreet reaction.

Yet contemplating whether or not to give it any thought led her to actually _doing_ the thing itself.

Dany's body felt like it was on fire with shame when her mind betrayed her, reminding her of how his naked torso had looked earlier in the water, the muscles on his chest moving in tandem with his hands as he washed her. She strained against him now, pulling away slightly and feeling the night's chill seep in the space between their bodies, cooling her steaming skin and calming her somewhat.

When sleep finally found her, she was plagued with images of dragons and burning skulls. Viserys appeared at one point and tried claiming her lips with his, and when she dared herself to give into the innocent press of flesh, her eyes opened only to find that she was kissing a rotting corpse.

Dany screamed as his flesh started dissolving before her eyes, shielding herself away from his dead, searching fingers.


	18. Haunted

"Careful, it's quite vile," the prince warned sourly, placing the goblet down. His sister shook her head, blushing profusely, yet whether it was from the heat inside the inn or something else, he could not say.

"I'm fine, brother. I don't think it's time yet for spirits—"

"It's not spirits, you silly child," he hissed under his breath. "You're only nine. Why in the seven hells would you think I'm trying to give you _wine_ or anything of the sort?"

Daenerys cowered under his reproachful gaze before nodding anxiously and taking a few sips of the bittersweet nectar.

Hours later in the confines of their small room, the girl slept deeply while he listened to the rhythmic sound of her breathing. The prince noted with appreciation the slight, nearly unnoticeable curvature of her hip, jutting out ever so slightly beneath the stark white of the sheet. She was sleeping facing away from him, having been accustomed to missing his touch for weeks now.

Viserys simply wasn't certain if he could ever touch her again without feeling like a huge pile of dragon droppings.

_Her hair shone like newly spun gold and silver threads, gleaming brilliantly in the receding sunlight, a flame to which he was always drawn so irrevocably. His fingers worked carefully through the wet, vibrant tresses, his eyes drinking in the exquisite slope of her neck and back in the midst of it all. Why was it that staring upon this girl captivated him so? It was far easier hiding his fascination with her when he was clothed; being completely nude and standing behind her made him remember that if he moved forward ever so slightly she would _feel _him—_

_But no, that thought was quelled the moment she twisted her head, earning a sharp reprimand in her direction. _

_The distance he was from her as he caught the fish and started the fire did nothing to obliterate the sight of her pale, naked body from his vision as she found the clothes he had laid out and dressed quickly. Later that night, pressed against her squirming, restless form, the prince barely had a moment of respite. He fell in and out of dreams with the speed of a forming thought, and he soon grew tired of their dance, having trouble discerning which moments were reality and which were mere delusions. When he finally caged her in his arms, crushing her and stilling her movements, he fell almost immediately back into sleep, his last thoughts concerned with whether or not she might notice his despicable arousal..._

_Viserys dreamt that he was finally King. The usurpers were kneeling before him in their armor, the weight of a crown laying heavy upon his head while his sister laced her fingers with his. When he carried out the sentences of their deaths she squeezed his hand and he turned to her in question. _

_"Death is only fitting for traitors of the crown," she said. "Yet a _wise _king will know when to forgive those who have bent the knee." _

_He let go of her hand angrily, but before he could admonish her she turned into Rhaegar, towering over him and piercing him with that dark, all-knowing gaze. _

_"You are no true dragon, Viserys." A shudder went up his spine at that. "A true dragon knows how to pick his allies, not only defeat his foes." _

_"But these are the usurpers who stole my crown—they _killed _your wife and children—"_

_"Yet you are alive." His brother's eyes were sad now, and a small smile played upon his lips. "If you don't wish to join me, you must change your ways. You must open your eyes, Viserys." _

_"I cannot simply forgive everyone as if none of it ever happened," Viserys said. "They must pay. Fire and blood are our words, and our lives—"_

_"Aegon the Conqueror was a true dragon," Rhaegar said, ignoring him. "When Torrhen Stark bent the knee, Aegon knew to forgive him and make the North his ally." His eyes were so dark Viserys could have sworn they had turned black. "What has become of you, Viserys? Of our sister? You have poisoned her with stories of betrayal, and while many may be true, you have crushed her spirit thus..." _

_"I _love_ Daenerys; I'm the one who protected her and raised her," Viserys spat, suddenly angry at the dreadful apparition. "I'm the true king of Westeros—"_

_"_I _was to be the true king of Westeros, Viserys. And had I waited any longer, I would have taken her from you. She was mine from the beginning; I was oldest." His brother's face was angrier than he had ever seen it. "Everything you have is because I am _dead_; everything you have should have been _mine_. Remember that Viserys. Remember that you are a second son. You were never meant to be king."_

_"I _am_ king..." He felt very frightened now. Whilst alive, his brother had never been callous or rude to him, having only words of wisdom and comfort to offer him whenever Viserys had felt lost or scared. _

_"You are a king, Viserys? Tell me, who is your most loyal subject?" Rhaegar's laugh was terrifying, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand. "You are king of corpses, brother." _

_He was right; there were bodies strewn all across the throne room of the Red Keep, blood covering the floor and splattered on the walls everywhere the eye could see. When Viserys looked down he saw that the massive crimson pool had reached his feet, soiling his boots, and a scream he was too proud to let out lodged in his throat._

_"Don't become our father, Viserys." The voice was sad again. "He was not so loved a king. And nor will you be if you follow his example. Being a king of corpses serves no one." _

The dream had horrified him to no end, plaguing him nearly every waking moment, his late brother's words echoing in his mind over and over. _Don't become our father, Viserys. King of corpses. You are no true dragon._

Was it true? Had his father been a raving lunatic after all?

_Don't become our father, Viserys. _

The young man had few memories of his father, a twitchy, thinning old man with a long silver beard who cut himself so often on the throne that he soon became paranoid of everything sharp. He had banned swords from being brought into the throne room, allowing only his Kingsguard to wield weapons in his presence. It had been an efficient plan until one of his own Kingsguard, a Lannister, had driven his sword into Aerys' back. He had heard the terrible tale of treachery from Ser Willem Darry years later, having been shielded more often than not from the facts surrounding his father's death.

Viserys watched his sister sleep, wishing he could find relief in dreams. It was only wishful thinking; lately he hadn't been able to dream of anything pleasant, if he even managed to dream at all. He didn't understand the guilt his brother had awoken in him. All he had told Daenerys had been true; he hadn't wanted to poison her, but merely prepare her for the situation they would be facing upon their return across the Narrow Sea.

He felt a small nudge in his side and the springy bed shift before a pair of amethyst eyes settled on him.

"Go back to sleep," the prince commanded softly, pushing her shoulder gently and causing her to turn around and curl up once again.

"You never hold me anymore," she mumbled sleepily. Viserys ground his teeth together, biting back an angry retort.

"All the same," he said slowly. "You need your rest."

He indulged her for a moment and rubbed the back of her neck, sensing how she stiffened in surprise before pushing back into his touch. His sister was asleep within minutes, leaving Viserys to his dark, confused and haunting thoughts once more.


	19. Tenderness

A hand against her shoulder and one around her waist; Dany knew her prince had come when she felt his warmth against her own. She never saw his face, so it could have been a different boy each time she dreamt, but he always stood behind her, hugging her tightly and pouring power into her being simply through his tender touch.

_It has to be the same person_, she thought. _His touch is so familiar. _

They stood at the edge of the world together, untouchable and unbreakable, the sky expanding before them paler than she had ever seen it.

She leaned her head back against his chest and allowed herself this momentary escape, suddenly afraid of waking up, afraid of pushing farther, afraid of _running_. Those that ran, she knew, might one day be found.

In her waking moments, the princess took care never to look her brother more than a moment or two in the eye. Ever since they had arrived in Norvos seven months before, he had been acting quite strangely. Ever since that day when they bathed in the River Noyne, now that she thought back on it…And he had never finished his story, either.

"Viserys," she piped up one midweek day, her eyes traveling to the stool he had set up near the window. He was sewing a small patch of material on a pair of trousers that she had ripped while gathering sticks and logs for their fire. Old Yvanna had allowed them to remain on her farm so long as they paid a small fee for their room; however, she allowed them to break their fast on her food and cooked them dinner every night, all free of charge.

"Yes, Daenerys, what is it?" His voice was cool and calm, but the princess thought she detected an edge to it.

"I was only wondering…See, you never finished telling me that story."

"What story?" he asked impatiently, pausing his mending of her trousers to give her a hard look.

Her stomach tightened at his expression. "The story you started the night we camped by the Noyne. You never finished it."

"I didn't," he said simply, resuming his chore.

"Well," The princess bit her lip, uncertain now. "I was wondering if you might finish it. Or rather, _when _you might finish it…"

Viserys didn't answer her; he didn't give her a moment's of attention, dedicating his focus on completing the task at hand. Dany's heart was racing now; the muscle twitching in his jaw told her that perhaps he was angry with her. She didn't understand _why _—what had she done to deserve his scorn? It had been months since he had hit her, yet also months since he had touched her at all.

Upon arriving to Norvos, the pair had lived in what inns they could find within the Low City, keeping to themselves for many weeks before Yvanna had found them. When Viserys had taken his sister into the marketplace one day, a stooped woman sporting two gold teeth and flaming hair streaked with white had given Dany a stick of grilled meat for free.

Her brother had nearly made her give it back, but the woman had reprimanded him, saying that no one should feel so proud in this world as to not accept free food. Viserys had taken insult, as he was wont to do, but what had started out as a tight-lipped argument ended with the woman offering the orphans modest housing on her farm. Situations such as that one had taught Dany that it was never wise to judge a book by its cover. Trusting strangers was not something the siblings liked to do, yet some strangers could be worthy of it. Viserys had apologized days later, and Yvanna had laughed in his face, clapping him on the back and requesting his help with catching that night's dinner.

Hours passed in silence as she sat on their bed reading, her brother having left not long after he finished sewing. The sky was darkening outside, the blues turning into angry, stormy grays before her eyes. The princess tended to the fire, wondering where her brother had gone and more importantly, when he'd be back. She returned to the bed, losing herself once again in stories of distressed maids and the dashing knights who came to their rescue. Yvanna's book collection was rather small, but she had assured Daenerys that she was more than welcome to borrow any book as long as she took care of it.

"Now, about that story," Viserys' voice said softly next to her ear, causing her to jump. Dany hadn't even heard him come in.

When she turned to look at him, his face was so close that she could feel his warm breath hitting her cheek; he was so close that if she leaned forward ever so slightly she'd be able to kiss him. Dany decided against it in a heartbeat, suddenly questioning why she had even thought of it. Viserys hadn't pressed his lips to hers since she had been a toddler, and the last kiss he had given her had been a fleeting peck on the brow months before while tucking her in for sleep one night. Perhaps he had been feeling generous on that night, she thought; showing her any sort of tenderness seemed to go against his very being if she considered the way he had been acting as of late.

"Yes," she mumbled, certain her face was red. "You never finished the story—that night after we bathed in the river."

"Be a little more specific," Viserys murmured, his eyes flickering like torches. Or perhaps that effect was due to the fire spitting violently within the fireplace, the only source of light in their room.

He remained as close as he could without really touching her. Yet the dip his weight made in the bed caused her body to slide closer, her thigh touching his and causing a lump to form in her throat. Viserys wasn't pushing her away, she noted, yet his sudden proximity after so many months of cold carelessness left her feeling nervous and confused. She was suddenly very grateful for both layers of material that separated his skin from hers.

"Viserys," she said slowly. "What are you doing?"

The prince lifted his pale brows, the corner of his mouth twitching in what could only be amusement.

"What am I doing?" he asked, feigning surprise. "I'm giving you what you want." His eyes sparkled.

"What I want…?"

"A story," he said, his breath tickling her face.

She shied away from him, but he was quicker. His fingers sank into Dany's arms as he pulled her against him, his face so close she thought he might kiss her. Instead, Viserys glared at her darkly, the blazing fire turning his face into a moving mask of light and shadow.

"What are you scared of Dany?" he breathed against her face.

"You frighten me," she whispered, her fingers sinking into the rough-spun material of his shirt, feeling the lean muscles of his chest rippling under her touch. Dany's voice was breaking but she continued. "You look at me like you hate me—and I don't know why. I don't know what I did to deserve your scorn, but I'm sorry. Whatever it was I did, I'm _so_ sorry, Viserys. I—"

His forefinger pressed against her lips, hushing her, his other hand still gripping her arm but loosening so that it wasn't painful.

"Daenerys, my sweet Daenerys," he murmured, his face softening. And then she was in his arms, his chin resting on the top of her head. She inhaled his scent deeply, a shudder going through her body upon realizing how much she had missed him—missed his touch, his tenderness, his _love_. "You mustn't be frightened of me. Silly child." She pulled back slightly so she could stare into his eyes.

"You've been so bitter towards me, I thought—"

"Hush now, Dany." Her brother hadn't called her that in months.

"I love you so much," she sighed sadly, desperately. Viserys pulled her into his lap, cradling her as he once had when she was younger, when things were better, when life was easier. "Why have you been so upset with me? Please tell me, _please_." Her eyes were burning with unshed tears.

"I—I don't know," he said softly, and she could hear the confusion and sincerity in his voice. "I can't…"

"Can't what?"

He squeezed her tightly for a second before sighing deeply.

"Just don't worry about it." She was about to protest when he continued, his voice lighter. "Do you still want to hear the story, sweet sister?" Dany's heart was breaking with how lovely he was being. She sat very still, afraid that if she spoke or moved, the moment would break and he would revert back to cold, calculating Viserys.

"Dany?"

"Yes," she whispered into his chest. "I'd like to hear the end of it. Please," she added. He drew her away slightly so he could look at her face. His gaze swept over her features before he nodded, picking her up and placing her on the bed so she was lying on her side. The girl propped herself up on an elbow, her head resting against her hand.

He followed suit, stretching out and giving her a small smile as he lay next to her.

"Now," he said, propping himself up on one elbow, mimicking her. "Remind me where I left off."

"You were telling me of the defeat of the Ghiscari, and the cities the Valyrians built."

"Ah yes." Viserys said. "After defeating the Ghiscari Empire, the Freehold expanded exponentially. The cities of Slaver's Bay were conquered as well. The Valyrian Freehold became the dominating cultural, political and military force of Essos. No one dared defy the dragon riders of old."

"How did they tame the dragons?"

Viserys hesitated for a moment. "Magic. I read somewhere that there were magical horns they used, with ancient runes carved into them. The dragon would be tied to the person who blew the horn, tied to their bloodline."

"Tell me of our family in Valyria."

"Well, there's not much I know….They were one of the forty noble houses which ruled the Freehold. They weren't the richest and they didn't have the most dragons, but they were possibly the smartest and most prophetic."

"Like Daenys Targaryen," she mused.

"Yes," he said, his mouth lifting to the side in a half-smile. "Her father had the same gift, I think, I'm not quite sure. Either way, he knew she spoke the truth when she told him of her visions of a fiery cataclysm hitting Valyria."

"And he left immediately? He didn't try to warn the other noble families?"

Viserys shook his head. "They didn't listen. He had a few friends he told, and word may have gotten around, but not many listened. Those that did fled as well as they could. The blood of old Valyria still runs in some of the Free Cities…Lys, Myr, Volantis. But ours was the only family who retained their dragons."

"The Doom really killed all of them? I thought fire could not kill a dragon."

"This was more than fire, Dany." Sorrow flashed across his face for a moment, as if he had been there to witness their ancestral land's demise. "This was chaos and destruction. The seas rose up to swallow the land after the Fourteen Fires erupted. The devastation was unlike any other in history. They say the land still smokes to this day and that anyone who passes close to Valyria or dares cross through the Smoking Sea is never heard from again."

"It's a shame," she said wistfully. "I'd love to see it, even as it is now. If we had dragons, we could ride them above Valyria, untouched by fire, land or sea."

"If only we had dragons." Viserys' face had gone serious now, and there was a sadness the likes of which she had never seen before brewing in his eyes. He looked so fragile somehow, like the slightest push would break him. She decided to change the subject.

"Tell me of our brother Rhaegar."

"What of him?"

Dany realized with a pang of dread that her change of subject was less than welcome. She had been trying to help, yet the way Viserys' eyes narrowed on her now made the girl think she had made a terrible mistake.

"You don't have to if you're too tired," she offered, fearing this sudden change of mood.

"Yes," he said finally, his jaw working furiously as he looked away. "I'm too tired. Another time perhaps."

"Yes, another time," she agreed.

"Come." He stood up, cracking his neck and wincing before pulling her to her feet. "Let's see if Yvanna needs help with dinner."


	20. Betrayed

"He's an odd one, ya brother," Yvanna said teasingly, and Viserys heard his sister giggle. He paused outside the door, a freshly killed chicken in hand.

"Don't let him hear you, Yvanna." he heard Dany say. "He might take it the wrong way."

"There's no wrong way o' takin' it, only one way, girly. He's a lost soul, that one."

Viserys held his breath; he could hear his heart drumming in his ears, a slow fury building inside of him with every passing moment.

"We're both lost, in a way." His jaw clenched as he listened, hoping his sister wouldn't reveal too much information. As much as he liked the old woman, he didn't think it would be safe if she knew their true identities. He strained himself to hear her now, since Daenerys' voice had lowered, and he could picture her face saddening as the following words left her lips. "He's all I have and I'm all he has. We're two orphans…lost in the midst of a world we never even thought we'd be a part of."

"How old were ya when your parents…?" Old Yvanna trailed off. Viserys let out a slow, silent breath, hoping they wouldn't hear him through the small crack in the door.

"My mother died giving birth to me ten years ago. My brother has taken care of me ever since. He was nearly nine when it happened. I don't believe he's ever been the same after that..."

"Since her passin'?"

"And since my birth."

"Frail age," the old woman tittered, and Viserys could picture her shaking her head. He pressed his shoulder into the door frame, leveling his breathing and trying to look as natural and oblivious as possible when he would push open the door—but then Yvanna spoke again. "He _is_ a lost soul, but I have a feelin' that with some help, he might find himself again. Find you. Find his destiny."

"Do you really believe in all that?"

"Well o' course." A quick pause. "Everyone has a destiny, child. Whether they want to follow it or no…Our lives are written and planned out long before we're born. What happened happened, and couldn't have happened any different no matter what us frail, mortal humans desired."

"I don't believe that," his sister replied, and Viserys detected a hint of disobedience in her voice, something which he generally didn't hear directed toward him.

"What do _you_ believe in, fair child? That we weave our own destinies? There's a larger picture, ya know, and the Gods—"

"I don't know," she interrupted somewhat hurriedly. "I only know that, Gods or no Gods, no deity could ever impose such suffering on a nine year old and a newborn without just cause. And there was _no_ just cause for the Gods, or whoever it was, to take my mother away from us. There's no justification for what we were put through, and what we are still being put through." A silence stretched out perceptibly, and Viserys desperately wished he could see through walls so he may look upon their faces and know their silent communication. Then Daenerys' voice continued, lighter and smaller now. "I mean no disrespect, Lady Yvanna. Viserys and I are ever so grateful for everything you've done for us. You're quite possibly the nicest person we've encountered, well, _ever_."

"And ya kids won't be gettin' a room any place else for a price as good as this one," Yvanna chuckled. "But that was just what I'd been meanin' to talk to ya about, child."

"Yes?"

"The room. I know you're turnin' ten next week, and though that may be young, I remember me'self at ten, all long limbs, fiery hair, freckles and big teeth. I remember my body changin' and thinkin' to me'self, I can't continue sharing a room with ma' younger siblings."

"I don't think we can afford more than one room, and Viserys won't—"

"Oh, he will. He's not blind to your body, child. And he should know a girl your age needs the privacy of her own bed and her own room to—"

"What is the meaning of this?" Viserys growled, slamming the door open so loudly that both females sitting at the table jumped in shock. "What are you saying, Yvanna? We had a deal for _one_ room, and you know of our circumstance, you know I can only afford to pay for that one room—"

"Put the fire out, boy, there isn't any need for all o' that," the woman snapped, her dark green eyes narrowing at him. "I was goin' to give her the room free of charge. It's a smaller room. I used it when my nephew visited years ago when he was still a young boy. The bed is smaller but she'll fit comfortably."

"Free—free of charge," muttered Viserys, his face flushing profusely. "That is—awfully generous of you. But I'd rather not impose—"

"Impose on _whom_, m'boy?" The woman waved her hand dismissively, making his jaw clench. "I don't use that room for anythin'; it's been empty for years. You'd just need to clean it up a bit, I'll get her some fresh linens and a pillow, and that's that." The woman's eyes were almost accusing now, and Viserys wondered for a split second if she knew who they were, knew of their family's tradition, and what he planned to do once Daenerys came of age. Horror rose up inside of him, and he felt a cold sweat breaking out all over his body.

"I apologize," he grated out, his voice not sounding apologetic in the least.

Yvanna smiled then, shaking her head and telling him it was no trouble at all. Yet Viserys could see that strange look still lingering in her eyes even now. It was a look that clearly said, _I know your deepest, darkest secrets, and I don't trust you. _

"What was that all about?" he asked Daenerys that night as they readied themselves for bed.

"Hm?" She wasn't looking at him, preoccupied with slipping off her shirt and trousers and rummaging through the armoire for her nightgown. Viserys grabbed her wrist and shook her slightly, making her gasp and drop the gown. Her violet eyes found his and she flinched upon noting how furious he was.

"What were you talking about with Yvanna before I came in?" he demanded, nostrils flaring. His eyes ran up and down her body, her underclothes so thin they left little to the imagination. She had developed a little these past few months, her hips rounding out slightly, yet her chest was still flat as ever. Viserys could almost feel her pulse rising beneath his fingers, his hand so tight around her wrist now that she winced.

"We were—we were discussing my name day. It's coming next week, and Yvanna says a girl shouldn't be rooming with her brother at such an age."

"Yvanna has _no_ say in how I care for you. How _dare_ you go behind my back—"

"I wasn't going behind your back," Daenerys snapped, tugging her wrist out of his grip, her eyes flashing. "I was simply having a conversation."

"I heard you." He stepped closer, towering over her as he reached out and grabbed her shoulders firmly. "I heard everything you said, Daenerys. About me, about our mother." She looked scared now, and something inside of Viserys took great pleasure in that.

"I didn't mean to give anything away. I was _defending _you," she tried, twisting in his hands. He was much stronger, his grip unrelenting as she gazed up at him fearfully.

"Defending me," he said slowly, feeling how hot her skin was against his own. "You mean _betraying _me." Viserys pushed her away then, fearing that if he remained in her presence he would surely end up hurting her. "I'm leaving," he announced, putting his tunic back on before turning away.

"But it's so late—wait, where are you going?"

"That," he said crisply, turning to look back at her puzzled expression, "is none of your concern."


	21. A Study on Rising Tension

It felt somewhat strange to finally have her own room, yet also deeply satisfying.

Dany couldn't fall asleep for the life of her. Despite how tired she physically felt, her eyes would not stay shut. The anticipation of the following day finally arriving was building up inside of her chest like a twisting, rising flame.

Her name day was approaching fast, and she counted down the passing moments with much excitement yet also, she now realized, an alarming sense of panic. In a few more hours she would finally reach ten years of age. She had been waiting for this day for months, _years_ even; now that it was finally here, she felt a great sense of trepidation surfacing within her, weaving its dark tendrils around her insides and cutting through her more pleasant emotions.

But no—Dany pushed these thoughts aside, frowning at the moonlight streaming in through the window as if it could see her discontent. She was turning ten and she was growing older—she was just going to have to deal with the changes as they came.

Earlier that day, Viserys had left without saying where he was going or what he was even planning on doing. He didn't communicate much to her anymore, especially after he had accused her of betraying him to Old Yvanna the week before. Daenerys couldn't disagree with him more. She had defended him in front of the woman, had kept herself calm and collected when the woman had prodded her for information in regards to their parents. And then there he was, accusing her of having done something as stupid as breaking his trust. It made her furious just to think about it. Did he honestly think so little of her?

The Targaryen prince hadn't come back home. Hours had passed with Dany watching the sun's progression across the sky as it changed the landscape from one color to the next. As sure as the sun moved in the sky every day and the moon surfaced every night to wink at her, Dany was changing in ways she didn't think it too wise to linger on. It made her reflect on the images she had seen in the Lyseni prince's book so many months before, those forbidden words and illustrations burning behind her closed lids every time she tried to fall asleep.

When she awoke the next morning, it was to a pair of lilac jewels floating above her face. She gasped and blinked, the image coming into focus, her brother's thin, sharp face materializing as if out of thin air.

"Viserys," she gasped sleepily, sitting up on her elbows. "What're you—what _are_ you doing in my room?"

His mouth curled into what looked like a pleased smirk, his eyes raking her linen-covered form.

"It's your name day, sweet sister. I thought I would come and wake you up with a kiss."

"A kiss?" Daenerys' heart was thudding against her chest so hard she feared he might hear it.

Viserys sat himself on the edge of her bed, his eyes gleaming dangerously.

"I take it you don't want a kiss?"

"No—I mean, _yes_, I want the kiss, but—" She searched his composed, handsome features, her cheeks and the back of her neck suddenly feeling too hot. "May I have just a moment to freshen up properly?"

"Freshen up," he mused, his smirk widening into a flashing smile. "What sort of kiss do you think I have in mind, Dany?"

Her brother didn't wait for her reply. Balancing himself on one hand he leaned over her, pressing his lips to her forehead. The kiss was rougher than what she remembered his kisses to be, although that might have been an effect caused by his facial hair. Viserys seemed to be growing more and more of it lately, and she would always notice the stark difference between his soft, freshly shaved face, and the scratchy texture of it when he didn't even bother for days. The self-proclaimed King of Westeros lowered his head then, his lips against one cheek, and then the other, causing a shiver to run down Daenerys' spine. When he pulled back to smirk at her, it took the girl much will power not to look away from his searching gaze.

"Viserys," she breathed, and he shook his head slightly, although at what, she couldn't quite tell.

"You're looking pale, sweet sister," he said, pressing a hand against her forehead as his face grew serious. "Are you feeling well?"

"Dragons don't get sick," she huffed, suddenly exasperated and wondering how in the world she looked pale when her body felt as warm as dragon's breath. He stood up then, helping her off the bed, his hand cool against her own.

"That is good to hear, although I remember you being very sick on the ship—"

"No, that was different." He shrugged almost indifferently, letting go of her hand. "May I freshen up now?"

Viserys nodded. "I have something for you."

He disappeared from her room and returned shortly after, a pale, flowing piece of material in his hands.

"I found it yesterday whilst wandering through the High City. I immediately thought of you upon seeing it. Cost me more than what it's probably worth, but I hope it…" He swallowed then, looking—_nervous_? No, Dany recanted, Viserys was never nervous. "I hope you like it," he finally said, pressing the material into her waiting hands.

Once she was bathed and dressed in her new gown, Dany found herself knocking on her brother's door, eager to look at herself in his full-length mirror. It was the only mirror in Yvanna's house which wasn't small, and now that she thought about it, the woman had moved it into the room mostly for Daenerys's sake. Perhaps she would ask Viserys to move it into _her_ room, now that she had her own. The thought was oddly comforting.

"Yes, come in," was his muffled reply.

"Remarkable," was all he said when she was finally standing before him, nervously smoothing down her dress.

"You think so? It's not too big—just here—in the front?" she asked self-consciously, motioning to her chest. Her brother chuckled and came around his desk, the look on his face far too predatory for her liking. Perhaps she shouldn't have mentioned anything in regards to her chest. Not that there was anything actually _there_, she reminded herself bitterly.

"Nonsense. Come, look for yourself," he said, grabbing her wrist and pulling her in front of the mirror so he stood behind her. "But, Dany—you never laced up the back. Silly girl." She gazed at her reflection while he tightened the strings of her dress, pulling the material so tightly against her body that she gasped and clutched the edge of the glass before her. "It's not as loose in front now, is it?"

"No, it's…perfect," she breathed. And it was. Dany loved the way the smooth material clung to her body, emphasizing the soft curves of her hips, and hiding the lack of curves on her chest with its embroidered designs. The sleeves were white and lacy, matching the hemline and the flowery embroidery on her chest, and the dress itself was a cool, gorgeous lavender.

"It matches your eyes," Dany commented, her gaze finding his in the mirror. Viserys' mouth curled in what was an almost sheepish manner, his hands resting on her shoulders gently. Daenerys couldn't help but wonder, for one short, nearly intangible moment, what was really going on in his mind.

"I was looking for something a little darker to match _your _eyes, but that was the only purple shade I could find. Is it not to your liking?"

"I already said it's perfect," Dany reassured, one hand reaching up to touch his.

"Yet…?"

"Yet nothing, Viserys." She turned around to look at him, her hand still in his. "Why must something be wrong? It's my name day today, and I've been looking forward to it for so long. I'm _so _pleased with this present. Thank you, dear brother." She paused for a mere moment. "In fact, I can't even remember any other birthday when I felt as happy. Can we just enjoy ourselves?"

"Yes," he said, looking taken aback. "Of course, dear sister."

Dinner that night consisted of duck roasted in butter and herbs, freshly baked bread, three different kinds of cheese, boiled eggs, and wild-berry pie. Old Yvanna and Viserys were on their best behaviors, Dany could tell, and it seemed to the girl as if each was trying to get along with the other solely for her sake. Ever since the woman had snapped at Viserys the week previous, Dany had rarely seen them talking to one another.

"So how do ya like the pie?" Yvanna asked, pouring a cup of ale for herself and one for Viserys. "I baked it me'self, even though ya brother here didn't deem it a worthy enough task for him, so he declined to help me." Dany noticed her brother's mouth twitching as if he were fighting a smile, raising his cup slowly from the table.

"Why Lady Yvanna, I was simply outshined by your brilliance in the kitchen," he said, taking a sip of the thick, dark liquid. "Had I helped, the pie may not have come out quite so delicious."

"Oh, come off it with ya flattery, boy," the woman said, but the corners of her mouth lifted in amusement. It wasn't quite a smile, but it was better than nothing.

"I think all the food is excellent," Daenerys supplied, digging into her dessert and finding out that her brother hadn't been lying; the pie was the most delicious thing she had tasted in a long time. Of course Yvanna's cooking was far above average. Dany sometimes wondered if the woman had cooked for nobleman at one point in her life, since selling meat sticks and pies on the streets of the Low City seemed like such a waste of her obvious talents.

"May I have some?" Dany asked, indicating the pitcher filled with ale. She didn't look to see Yvanna's response, but instead fixed her gaze on her brother, hoping he would allow her this small freedom on her name day.

Viserys' eyes were darker than usual, but the slight shake of his head was hard to miss. Yvanna grinned wide, flashing her two golden teeth as she grabbed the pitcher of ale.

"Here—"

"On second thought," Dany managed, "I'd rather just have the fruit juice, Lady Yvanna."

The woman shrugged and waved her hand, grabbing the glass pitcher instead of the ceramic one, the blood-orange liquid inside swirling with her every movement.

"Lady this and lady that. You're both o' noble blood. Why ya insist on callin' me a lady is—"

"It is _because_ we have such noble blood that we do so, my _lady_."

If Dany had been holding anything at that moment, such as a fork or a cup, she might have dropped it. Hearing her brother addressing the woman in such a manner was shocking; she had heard Viserys address her politely most of their time at the farmhouse, yet the way Yvanna's eyes had widened at his response was clear that the woman herself had never heard such emphasis on his calling her a lady before tonight.

Daenerys narrowed her eyes, attempting to discern the real reason behind his new-found show of respect. There was a cool, mischievous flare in his eyes, and they were darker than usual; it was making her feel dreadfully tense. Daenerys knew her brother never did anything without expecting something for it, and especially where strangers were concerned. 'Equivalent exchange' was one of his sayings, although these exchanges were rarely ever _equivalent_ in truth. Dany herself didn't consider Old Yvanna a stranger, yet she knew Viserys looked upon everyone who wasn't related to them as a stranger. And seeing as they were the last Targaryens alive in the world, she was the only person he would sometimes—quite rarely, as it was—offer something to without asking for something in return.

Viserys met her gaze once more. His smile was elegant and deadly, causing a tremor to go down her spine at the greedy look in his eyes. _Ah_, the princess thought, _so there _is_ something he wants in exchange. _Dany had a worrying feeling that it wasn't Old Yvanna who would pay that price...


	22. A Twisted Soul

"Dany!"

She turned promptly, her hand still on the door handle, and gave him the most peculiar of looks. Viserys' heart raced as he stepped closer to his sister, a voice in the back of his head reminding him this probably wasn't one of his best ideas.

"I have your gift," he said slowly, his eyes traveling over her features and not finding even one imperfection. But then, how could there be any? She was a dragon, same as him, and dragons were the most flawless of creatures.

"My—my gift?" Daenerys' eyes widened, and for a moment he was sure she would see right through him.

"Your name day present, sweet sister."

He smirked when she blushed profusely, her eyes lowering. "I thought this," she touched the flowing material of her gown, "was my present."

"Nonsense. That was simply something for you to wear on your special day. Come." Viserys held out his hand. "_Dany_," he admonished after a few moments when she made no move to take it. "Don't you want to see what I bought for you?"

The princess nodded meekly, her dark eyes finding his as she grabbed his hand. It was slightly clammy, and he wondered for a second if he had scared her. He couldn't imagine why she would be afraid of him; he hadn't raised his hand to her in nearly a year, he hadn't yelled at her in over a week, and he hadn't once been upset with her during dinner, not even when she uncharacteristically asked for a glass of ale.

When they reached his room, the older Targaryen retrieved a small box from his armoire, turning to his sister with a wide smile. Dany gazed up at him through long silver lashes, and he paused for a long moment to admire her budding figure, outlined by the new gown he had purchased for her.

"Happy name day, sister," Viserys murmured, placing the package into her outstretched hands.

Daenerys' jaw dropped upon opening it, and when her surprised eyes found his he noticed a faint blush surfacing on her creamy cheeks. Just how many times was this girl going to blush, he wondered with perverse amusement.

"Oh, _Viserys_," she breathed, returning her gaze to her present. He stepped closer and retrieved the contents of the box.

"Turn around."

Viserys tried to keep his voice mellow, yet the shiver going through his sister's body as he draped the necklace around her neck and pulled her hair over her shoulder to secure the clasp made him think that perhaps she heard something else entirely. Or was it the fact that she could detect the fervor in his touch, the disturbing zeal with which he caressed the skin at the nape of her neck as he adjusted it? Viserys clenched his jaw to steady himself and grasped her shoulders, moving her so she was facing him once again.

"Well?" he asked impatiently, noting the way she trembled beneath his touch and pointedly avoided his gaze.

"Brother, it's so lovely—but it must have cost a _fortune_—"

"I've been putting money aside for quite a long time," he lied smoothly, one hand playing with a lock of her hair. In truth, he had offered his services to various manses for the past few weeks, saving it all for the object in question.

At times he had wondered why he was even doing it, why he was placing such importance on a simple name day. Some of her name days had came and went with the simple blink of an eye; an uttered "Merry name day" and a quick peck on the forehead and that was that. Yet this name day was special, he knew, for his sister was already a decade old. Viserys didn't quite know how to feel about that.

Without a word, he grabbed her by the wrist and led her to the full length mirror. As Dany studied their reflection, Viserys rested his hands on her shoulders, feeling the warmth of her flesh and the tremor of her body as he pressed his chest against her back. The necklace glittered like the sun at dusk, the gold of the chain complimenting the lovely tear-drop shaped amethyst hanging from it. He noticed how deeply she was breathing, the stone on her chest moving up and down, her breaths coming faster and deeper with every passing second.

Viserys realized what was making her so nervous when he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, a shiver of pleasure going through him at the friction in his trousers. Pressed against her as he was, his body was responding in ways he was now coming to regret, his groin straining against his pants and pushing into her back. He stood very still, praying to whatever Gods could hear him that he was wrong, that she hadn't actually felt him, that she couldn't possibly understand what it was she was feeling anyway—

"Viserys." Daenerys' voice was soft and slightly shaky, and when she slipped away from his grasp to turn and face him, he was at a loss of what to do. "What's wrong?" There was no way to hide what she had done to him—and that was exactly it—this wasn't even his fault, it was _hers_.

_Let her see the proof of your arousal_, whispered a dark voice at the back of his mind. _She did this to you; there's no reason to hide it. _Yet his hands automatically lowered, trying to shield himself from her view, ignoring the pestilent voice which plagued him daily and tried convincing him to do terrible, terrible things.

"Nothing," he said sharply, turning away. Viserys strode over to the door and yanked it open, his blood boiling. "It's late and I must wake early on the morrow. I trust you find your present pleasing. Now go."

He heard her tiny footsteps approaching and let out a slow breath of relief, eager to get her out of his room. When the footsteps stopped he stiffened, turning to stare in her direction, angry at her disobedience.

"Yes?" he inquired, his voice harsh even to his own ears. "Is there something you would like to say before you go?"

Dany was staring up at him with those large, unfathomable eyes. The stone on her gold chain was nearly the same color as her eyes, and Viserys' rage grew as he considered how ungrateful she was being. He had gone out of his way to get her something so precious and lovely, something she could cherish forever, something so perfect in its existence that it matched the color of her eyes in its natural form. And here she was, disobeying him, annoying him, putting him in a position he'd rather not be—

"Viserys, what—what is the matter?"

He clenched his jaw at how fluttery and childish Dany's voice was, how _stupid _she was; couldn't she understand that he needed her to leave _now_?!*

"Nothing is the matter," he snapped. Viserys pinched the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb while he continued angling his body away from her. "I need to wake early. I only brought you here to give you your present. I have done that. Now I need you to leave."

Her hand was on his arm then, her touch warm and gentle through his sleeve, and Viserys' carefully constructed control shattered into a thousand irrecoverable pieces.

Before he could decipher what his body was trying to tell him, his hand was already wrapped around Dany's small throat, his body flush against hers as he pressed her into the door. It had snapped shut so quickly; for a moment Viserys couldn't even remember closing it, but then realized he had simply thrown her against it without further preamble.

The young man could feel his sister's pulse under his hand, a tiny whimper escaping her lips when he lifted her up so her face was level with his, her legs dangling in the air. Danerys' eyes were very wide and frightened. Some deep-seated, twisted, and evil part of his soul savored the panic she displayed as he sank his fingers into the soft flesh of her hip, pressing his own against hers.

Viserys was certain she could feel him at this point, cradled as he was between their bodies, begging for release and satisfaction. Yet there was nothing he could do about this turn of events, the young man knew; she was so young, much too young to even—

A knock against the door, harder than he had ever heard it, and both siblings jumped in surprise. Viserys stiffened against Dany's body, his shoulders tensing and his weight shifting from one leg to the other as he held her against the door, hoping against hope that Yvanna had simply forgotten to talk to him about something. Surely, the woman couldn't possibly know what compromising situation he had put himself and Daenerys in, could she? He would simply shoo her away, tell her he was sleeping and that he didn't want to be disturbed.

Before Viserys could ponder the matter further, there was more rapping against the door, and Old Yvanna's voice floated out from behind it.

"Viserys! Where is ya sister? She's not in her room…" There was a short pause. "Is she in there with ya?"


	23. Breaking A Relationship

For Daenerys, being on the move again meant two things. The first, and more terrible of the two, was that they were in constant danger, hiding their identities becoming harder and harder as people took note of their strange hair and eyes with narrowed, accusing gazes. The second, and the more annoying of the two, was that Viserys would barely talk to her.

The night of her name day still troubled and perplexed her. It had already been over two weeks, but the intensity and fragility of her brother's gaze followed her in her sleep, haunting her dreams and turning them into nightmares. Whilst awake, Daenerys couldn't quite remember _why_ she had done what she had that night, but it had seemed best at the time. In her dreams, however, things were much clearer, her perspective changing entirely, taking her back through time to a day she had put aside her own safety and virtue in order to protect her brother and his reputation.

_The knocks vibrated through her back, sending tingles of unease throughout her entire body. _

_"Viserys! Where is ya sister? She's not in her room…" A quick pause, and then, "Is she in there with ya?" _

_Viserys' chest crushed her against the door as he took in the deepest of breaths, his fingers loosening around her throat before slipping away. Her brother's hands came up beneath her armpits as he slowly backed away from the door, bringing her with him. The descent to the floor was slow, so slow and soft that Dany's slippered feet made no sound as they touched the rug. When he was certain she was standing on her own feet, he pulled his hands away, bringing one up to his face, forefinger against his lips as he mouthed a silent "Ssshh," to her._

_More rapping against the door, and then a loud thump. Daenerys imagined that Yvanna had kicked it with her boot. _

_Daenerys' heart was beating a million paces per second, the anxiety scorching inside her chest like a dragon unleashed. There was a cold sweat gathering at the nape of her neck and on her forehead, and for all the warmth the room and its lit fireplace provided, she felt frozen and sickly with fear. _

_"Yvanna?" she called out loudly. Her brother's eyes popped out of his thin face—Dany could see betrayal, horror and fury mixing within them—before he grasped her and turned her around harshly, bringing her to his chest, one clammy, bony-fingered hand pressed hard against her mouth. _

_"Dany, child? Are ya in there?" _

_In one insane moment of inspiration, Dany lifted her foot and brought it down on her brother's, hard. He yelped quietly before letting her go, and the girl leapt a few paces away, close to the door again. _

_"Yes, Lady Yvanna, I'm here. Is anything the matter?" _

_It sounded as if the woman was shuffling her feet behind the door, and Dany could picture her standing there awkwardly, worry written across her aged face. _

_"I went to tuck ya in—and give ya yer present—but ya weren' in the room," she replied, her voice lower now. _

_"Oh, I'll be right out. My brother called me to his room for the same exact reason." _

_Dany turned to look at Viserys, and what she saw surprised her. His eyes had softened, his tense posture now loose and relaxed, and a small, genuinely grateful smile had appeared on his face. _

_When she opened the door, Old Yvanna straightened her posture, as much as it was possible for a woman who walked, talked and lived with a constant stoop in her shoulders. Her green eyes, warm and gentle upon looking at Dany, turned to an icy, calculating emerald when she looked past her to settle on Viserys. _

_"Lady Yvanna, you really shouldn't have," Dany started, but the woman waved her away, smiling pleasantly now. _

_"Say goodnight to ya brother and come back to ya room—I left the present there," she replied warmly before shuffling away. _

_Dany pressed the door so it was open only a crack before turning to face her brother. _

_Viserys was no longer smiling, but he looked very relieved, if anything. His eyes were hooded as she came closer to him, his demeanor contrasting greatly with what it had been only minutes before. _

_"Viserys, what happened before—"_

_"Please," he said, and for the second time in her life, Dany saw what Viserys looked like when he was embarrassed and pleading, the first time having been directed at a total stranger. "Don't talk about that, Dany. I—I'm so sorry, I just…" He trailed off, his face screwed up as if he were in physical pain. He took a step closer to her, and Dany had to hold herself very still to keep from shaking as he touched her shoulders gingerly and pulled her to his chest. "That was so _wrong_ of me to do. I lost control and I—please, _please _tell me you'll forgive me." _

_Daenerys put her arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest with a nod. _

_"It's fine..."_

_"No, no, it's not fine," Viserys said rather sadly. His chest shook as he shuddered, crushing her tighter than before. "I'm the lowest of low for even—"_

_"For what, boy?" They both jumped at the voice, but didn't pull apart. _

_Old Yvanna stood in the doorway. Daenerys was surprised, confused and alarmed—she hadn't even heard the woman coming down the hallway, or pushing the door open, and yet there she stood, a wrathful fire blazing in her eyes as she stepped inside Viserys' room. _

_"What exactly is it ya sorry for, boy?" _

_Viserys said nothing, only squeezed Daenerys closer to him and shot Yvanna a piercing, angry look of his own. _

_"How _dare_ you?" he hissed. "You don't have the right to just barge into my room whenever you please and—"_

_"How dare I?" the woman shot back, her eyes crackling like grass on fire. "This is _my_ house. I let ya come here, I clothe ya, feed ya, offer ya both a place to stay safe from wha'ever it is ya runnin'—and _don't_ try tellin' me ya not runnin' from somethin', boy, I can smell the fear in ya every time I ask you to come into the High City with me." She inhaled and exhaled deeply and loudly before continuing. "I once gave ya the benefit o' the doubt. But no more, boy. I know ya called this girl to yer room tonight for one purpose, and one alone." _

_Viserys let go of Dany, stepping away from her, towards the door and the old woman currently standing before its frame. "Are you implying—"_

_"No, I don't need to imply a bloody thing. I _know_ what ya wanted to do with'er Viserys. I see it in your mangy eyes every time you look at her. Yer a scoundrel, and if ya had any sense o' self-respect or decency, ya'd leave her here in my care and go. Go as far away as ya can go. This girl will never be safe with ya, and ya know it."_

_"HOW DARE YOU?!" Viserys bellowed at her then, and Dany froze to the spot, surprised at his outburst. She could see the side of his face was beat red, and his chest went up and down alarmingly fast. _

_Old Yvanna merely smirked, but it was a cruel, cold smirk which adorned her features. _

_"I know ya better than ya think I do, _Viserys Targaryen_. I know ya secret, and I kno' what ya plan on doin' one day. And it's _sick_. Evil." She spat at his feet, and Viserys took a step back, glaring at her._

_"Daenerys," he suddenly hissed, voice low and dangerous. "Go to your room. Take out the chest from beneath your bed. Pack everything you have in it. Leave everything _Lady_ Yvanna has given you; we'll have no need of anything that's hers where we're going." _

So with a heavy heart, Daenerys had said goodbye to the only stranger she had ever come close to considering family. The girl understood why her and Viserys had needed to leave, but that didn't mean she had to like it.

They had booked passage on a ship sailing down the river Noyne. Before they left, Old Yvanna had pulled Daenerys into a bone crushing hug before whispering in her ear, "I'll always be here if ya need me, child. Ya know where to find Ol' Yvanna…I'll be waitin'. Please stay safe."

Once on the ship, Dany had watched with bated breath as they sailed away. She watched the High City, lovely and untouchable upon the highest hill in Norvos, the Low City sitting at the base of it, slowly but surely being left behind. She watched the fields and farms rush past her, the sounds of the stream crashing against the wood of the boat lulling her into a deep sleep, the tears which had fallen from her eyes drying against her cold cheeks.

When they reached the intersection of two rivers, where the Noyne met the Qoyne and they merged into the massive river Rhoyne, Daenerys and her brother made their stop to resume the voyage by land.

"I thought we were sailing down all the way to Volantis," Dany said on the second day of travel. She was tired and hungry, too hot by day and too cold by night. She had forgotten what travelling on foot entailed, and now that she was dealing with it again, she couldn't for the life of her understand why Viserys had taken such a silly course of action.

"Stop your immature complaining. We're going to Qohor," Viserys snapped. He huffed in annoyance, pulling on the cart which lugged their chest and bags forward. It had been a parting gift from Yvanna, and the only kind of gift Viserys would accept. Although that was probably due to his selfish nature, Daenerys reasoned, and the fact that he knew just as well as she did that a cart with wheels to pull your belongings on was better than dragging them by hand or carrying them on your back. She had to hold back a giggle when she imagined Viserys bent over like a twig about to snap, the giant chest weighing him down heavily. _That_ would have proved quite an impossible feat, in her opinion.

"You never even mentioned we were going to Qohor. I thought you said we'd never go there. You once said there are savage men living there and that it's dangerous and—"

"_Enough_, Dany," he reprimanded, wiping away sweat from above his brow. "We will go where we have to go. It isn't safe to be on the move for so long. We'll go to Volantis once Qohor becomes…unstable." They way he said that last word made Daenerys frown. What did he even mean by that?

Many days passed, and the Targaryen siblings were starting to feel the consequences of traveling on foot. Daenerys was starting to feel her ribs poking through her tunic, and the pair of slippers she was wearing already had holes in them from the rough terrains they encountered.

"I'm hungry," she whined one evening, moments after the sun had set. The sky was the color of a bruised fruit, magenta and burgundy bleeding into shades of purple and navy blue. The moon hung in the sky like a pearl on a necklace of stars, the clouds dispersing bit by bit the darker the sky became.

"Let's look for a place to sleep, then. And we can set up a fire," Viserys said dully. Dany was surprised he wasn't arguing with her for once; then again, he was probably just as tired if not even more due to the heavy load he was pulling.

"Can we take a quick dip in the river?" she asked while they searched for adequate sleeping ground. Viserys' mouth twisted unattractively at that.

"The Qoyne rushes much faster here, we're not near the mouth of the river as we were when we found the Noyne. I'll fill up the pail and we'll wash near the edge, but we can't go in. I have enough worrying to do without you being dragged off by the current."

Dany nodded; it was better than nothing at all.

Viserys, true to his word, bathed her with fresh river water, re-filling the pail several times to give her a thorough cleansing. When he was done, Daenerys stood shivering in her wet small-clothes, which made him give her a questioning look.

"Well? Go change out of that before you catch a fever," he said.

"Dragons don't get sick. Don't you—I thought you needed help as well…" She trailed off, noting the tiny quirk in his mouth as if he were fighting off a smirk.

"No, no, go get changed. I can do it myself, silly girl."

Daenerys nodded, slipping away and heading for the place where they would sleep. She found her way through the dark with much stumbling and cursing under her breath, the moon and stars not offering much light to guide her. When she found it and changed into clean underwear and clothing, she decided to lay on the pallet near the dying fire and wait patiently. Perhaps her brother would tell her a story tonight, for old times' sake, or merely to pass the time until they fell asleep.

Her stomach growled in annoyance and she rubbed it, hoping Viserys would be back soon so they could break bread and get some much-needed rest. Minutes passed by in silence, the sounds of the bugs and other critters in the trees around her the only company in the darkness.

After what seemed like ages of waiting, Dany grew impatient and extremely restless. She hoisted herself up, suddenly worried that her brother had gone against his own orders and actually bathed in the river. An image of him being dragged off by a monstrously powerful current suddenly flashed before her eyes, and Dany started running through the trees, desperate to find him, to know he was simply taking his time washing.

When the trees parted and became sparse, she knew she had reached the banks of the Qoyne, and her feet worked faster than they had in years. There were cuts on her arms from where the branches had scraped her as she rushed past them, but Daenerys didn't stop to care. In her mind, nothing was more important than the task at hand. Viserys. He had to be fine, he _had_ to. She couldn't bear to think of what would happen if he had disappeared and left her behind.

When the edge of the water came into view, Danys' heart sped quicker. There was no sign of her brother. She caught on to a tree to support herself, afraid her legs would give out from under her, sensing that a fainting spell was fast approaching.

A noise startled her, and Dany quickly hid behind the tree, certain it had come from the direction of the river. There were a few large boulders strewn along the edge, and when the sound came again, she chanced a closer look, stepping from behind the tree.

It sounded like a person, and it sounded like he or she was in _pain_. Scared her brother might have gotten injured somehow, Dany rushed closer to the conglomeration of boulders to look behind and between them.

But the sight that met the young girl was nothing she could have ever been prepared for.


End file.
